


Five Times Stiles Pulled Lydia Out of Bed...and Two Times She Pulled Him Into Bed

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aliens, Angst, BAMF Lydia Martin, Banshee Lydia Martin, Basically Mulder and Scully, Damn Tree Stump, Detective Stiles, F/M, Fever Dreams, Fluff, Ghosts, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Insomnia, Lydia Martin Is So Done, Lydia Martin is perfect, Lydia takes care of Stiles, Mentions of Suicide, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune trauma, Protective Lydia Martin, Sassy Lydia, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Snarky Stiles, Stiles Stilinski doesn't sleep, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Stiles gets sick, The new teacher is always evil, Vampires, Werecoyote Malia Tate, detective duo, ghost riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8588677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: Spoilers for the general plot of 6A, and specifically from "Memory Lost." As Senior year progresses and things are quiet on the supernatural front, Stiles becomes increasingly anxious and insistent in looking into possible cases, dragging Lydia out of bed at all times of the night for her banshee expertise. Until she finally puts her foot down.





	1. Chapter 1

Rain drops splatter on his windshield as he drives determinedly toward Lydia’s house. The wipers work back and forth, frantically trying to clear the glass for him as fast as the water hits and his fingers tighten around the steering wheel a little more. His breathing is steady and even but his shoulders are tense, mouth set into a hard line as he pulls into the familiar driveway. He doesn’t bother with an umbrella before he throws himself out of the jeep and dashes to the front door of her house. 

There aren’t any lights on, but her car is in the driveway. He knocks loudly, waiting. He knows that Natalie Martin won’t be thrilled to see him, especially at three in the morning, but it’s not like he’s there for no reason. There are supernatural shenanigans afoot, and he needs her daughter’s help. 

He waits. And waits. He rests his forehead against the metal door and reaches out, lifting the flower pot up for the spare key, grabs it, makes a mental note to remind the Martin’s they need to change where they keep it more often, and slides it into the lock. Dripping wet, he makes his way into the house and up the stairs toward her room. He knocks softly, but doesn’t wait, just slips inside and flips on the lamp by her bed. 

“Lyds. Lydia.” 

She’s a light sleeper for the most part. On occasion, she’ll get stuck in a nightmare that she can’t shake herself awake from. Less common are the nighttime fugue-like states where she actually sees something that might be a banshee premonition. But tonight, she’s actually having a peaceful night of sleep, the sound of the rain lulling her. 

Until, that is, she feels a bright light on her face. 

Lydia shifts on the bed, frowning just as someone calls her name and drops of water hit her on the forehead and nose. She sits up quickly, frowning harder as she opens her eyes in confusion. “Stiles?” Maybe it is a dream of some sort. 

“Wake up. Get dressed.” He doesn’t exactly mean to deliver orders in her direction, but when he gets excited or super focused on something, it just sort of comes out sounding that away. 

She blinks her eyes, rubbing her face as she gets up without even thinking about it. “What’s going on?”

His eyes dart over her figure, taking in the over-sized pink t-shirt she’s wearing for pajamas, and turning, opening her closet because he’s trying to be helpful. “Work,” he tells her, barely contained excitement in his voice. It’s been three weeks since the Dread Doctors, since Theo was dragged to hell by his dead sister, since they handled the Desert Wolf, and it’s the first supernatural thing that’s come up on his radar since then. 

“What do you mean, work? I need more information. Is everyone okay?” She frowns hard when she sees him opening her closet. “You’re dripping, if you get water on my shoes, I’m going to kill you.” The threat just comes naturally as she tries to wake herself up a little more.

“Everyone’s fine. Well, except the ghost of whoever it is that died in the house that I found on the edge of town,” he adds, stepping back away from her closet to avoid dripping on her shoes and getting killed. “Also if you kill me over shoes, I’m definitely haunting you as long as you live in this house.” 

Except, he doesn’t step far away enough, so she grabs him by the wrist and drags him farther back. “And stay away from my bed.” She stares at him for a moment before turning to the closet and stepping inside completely. After a long moment, she calls out: “ghosts?” 

He sighs as he’s halfway to sitting down on the edge of her bed when she snaps at him. “Note to self, next time bring Lydia coffee when waking her up to play Banshee,” he grumbles, moving to lean against the wall. “Yes, ghosts.” 

There’s another moment of silence as she shuffles through her closet. And then everything stills completely. A second later, she pokes her head out of the closet, eyes narrowing at him. “And how would _you_ know if there’s a ghost? Or Scott, or anyone else for that matter when _I’m_ the only banshee?” 

“Would you please get dressed?” He responds, sighing and motioning her back toward her closet. “And because I happen to be very tuned into all things supernatural, okay? Also I did my homework.” AKA, he’d read a post online about it, spent hours pouring through police files, reports, and researching the history of the house and hasn’t slept since the previous night. 

Lydia huffs at him and takes her time to finish getting dressed. Once she’s done, she makes her way across the room and sits down by her vanity table, then proceeds to brush her hair and pull it up into a bun. “I’m not feeling anything.” 

“That’s because the house is across town,” he explains. “And there’s no connection between the pack and the house, but it’s definitely haunted.” He folds his arms across his chest, watching her get ready slowly. Very. Slowly. 

She eyes him through the mirror. And although she wasn’t planning on make-up, she does reach for her concealer. “I’ll check it. If you don’t burn a hole in the back of my head until then.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh. “You look perfect, can we just go?” 

Lydia sets the concealer down and sighs back at him, then she turns on her seat to slide her boots on and finally gets up. “I highly doubt that, assuming there really are ghosts, they’ll be going anywhere, Stiles.”

“Hey, you never know,” he defends. “Ghosts may have things to do too. We don’t know.” 

“Not at--” Lydia pauses and glances at the clock by her bed, sighing. “Three in the morning. Why were you even up this late on a school night? We have a test tomorrow.”

He shrugs, pushing himself away from the wall and heading for the door. “Supernatural trumps chemistry studying,” he responds. 

“Until you fill out your college application and it requires a transcript,” she points out, grabbing her purse and following him out of her room.

He grins involuntarily at that. “That’s why I get copies of your notes,” he teases, leading the way out of her room, down the steps and toward the front door.

It’s her turn to glare at the back of his head, but after a moment, she just shakes her head and follows him out of the house.

 

***

A half hour later finds them parked in his jeep waiting for the rain to stop pounding the glass so they can make it to the front door without _drowning._ He can’t even remember the last time it rained this hard. Except he can and it leads his thoughts down a troubling path. He chews his thumbnail as he watches the front of the house the best he can for sign of movement. 

She glances at the house and back at him, sighing softly. “Still nothing.” 

“It’s hard to tell with way it’s raining,” he says, glancing back at her.

Lydia sighs and shifts on the seat, turning toward Stiles. “I don’t think the rain would jam my banshee reception, Stiles. There’s nothing here.”

“Hey, you don’t know that. We should just go in,” he tells her, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “Maybe you need to touch stuff inside to trigger it. I mean it’s not like the bansheeing is an exact science, right?” 

She gapes at him, arching her eyebrows. “I’m _not_ getting out in this rain.” And then she sighs because no, it is not an exact science. “We can come back tomorrow after school.” 

“Oh come on, Lydia. We’re not going to melt.” He sighs, looking back at her with pleading eyes. “And we’re already here.” 

Lydia opens her mouth to say something, then glares at him and sighs. “I can afford to get sick and miss more classes. _You_ can’t.” Even if his situation isn’t as bad as Scott’s.

“Okay but I don’t even get sick. I haven’t been sick since eighth grade when I had strep throat because -- some jerkwad coughed on me.” Jackson, actually. And he’d thought it was hilarious at the time. Until Stiles had punched him in the face and gotten suspended, which worked out fine since he wound up getting strep throat anyway, and would have had to miss school.

“You mean Jackson.” Because they had been starting to flirt at that point and she also got strep throat. “And you got suspended, I don’t remember you being sick.” 

“That’s because I was suspended when I was sick,” he says wryly. “And yes, that’s who I meant.” And he wasn’t going to mention it because he didn’t think she’d remember the incident, and didn’t want to bring up his name in general, least of all in front of Lydia.

“I remember,” she points out. Because Jackson whined about it forever, so she’d pay attention to him. But Lydia just shrugs off that memory, because as far as she knows, Jackson is a closed book from a different lifetime. Half of the time, it’s hard to think back and remember who she used to be. She’s far from proud of her past self. 

But then she looks at Stiles. Scott. She looks at the pack and remembers all the good they’ve done together and it makes her feel a little better. Because of moments like this, of Stiles wanting to investigate things _just in case_ they could help someone. 

And with that in mind, she takes a deep breath and glances at the house, then back at him. “Okay, let’s go. I guess it’s raining a little less now.” It’s not.

Just that quickly, his expression changes and he beams at her, nodding eagerly and launching himself out of the jeep as he bolts toward the front of the house. By the time he hits the porch, he’s soaking wet. Yep, she’s definitely going to kill him. 

She makes it a few seconds after him. And no, she doesn’t look happy. She’s completely soaked and she’s fairly sure there’s a gallon of water inside each of her boots. “This place _better_ be haunted,” she tells him as she reaches up for her hair and frowns. It’s hopeless.

Stiles reaches out and tucks some of the wet hair behind her ear. “You still look beautiful,” he assures her before turning and reaching for the front door handle. Much to his delight, it’s unlocked and he pushes the door open, stepping inside. 

Lydia, however, stills. Sure, he’d said she looked perfect back at the house (and yes, she noticed), but he wanted her to hurry up. Now though, it makes something flutter in her stomach. After staring after him for a long moment, she takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around herself. Then follows him into the house. “How long has this been abandoned again?”

“Two and a half years,” he informs her. “Apparently the last home owner fled in the middle of the night and didn’t even return for his stuff because he was so freaked out from the weird things that were happening here. Reports of flickering lights, objects levitating, and footsteps from the attic in the middle of the night,” he tells her. “Typical haunting stuff.” 

“Wait.” Lydia cocks her head and stares at him as she rubs her hands over her arms because, yes, she’s freezing. “If no one has been here for over two years, who’s reporting these things?”

“Neighbors, I assume,” he tells her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his flashlight, flicking it on and shining it around the room.

She steps closer to him, looking around silently for a moment, then shrugging. “How did you find out about this place, anyway?”

“Initially? Internet forum on hauntings,” he admits.

Lydia pauses and stares at him for a moment. “You’re visiting a forum on haunted places?”

“I monitor all forums that mention Beacon County, California,” Stiles explains, shining his flashlight toward the stairs. “Particularly ones to do with the supernatural, or crime.” He pauses, shrugging. “Just in case I can help my dad somehow.” 

She considers him for a moment, then shakes her head as she lets it go. “I still don’t feel anything.” 

“Let’s try the attic,” he suggests, glancing at her over his shoulder before making his way toward the staircase. 

With a deep breath, Lydia follows him upstairs, shivering slightly as she does. Wet clothes she can deal with, but she feels like her feet and socks are drowning in her boots. And she’s freezing.

The steps creak loudly under the weight of their feet and Stiles grimaces as his heart starts pounding a little bit faster in his chest as he leads them up the stairs until they reach the next set of stairs. The ones that lead to the attic, he assumes. He glances at her once more, raising his eyebrows and then heading up them, as well, twisting the doorknob when he reaches the door. “Here we go,” he murmurs almost inaudibly, pushing it open.

Him reaching to open the door is enough for dust to fly up and all over her face. Lydia frowns and coughs. But then, all of the sudden, she hears a high pitched noise. Followed by something brushing past her leg. Before she can help herself, she screams and reaches for him.

“What? What did you hear?” He turns quickly, reaching out quickly to steady her and keep her from falling backwards and down the steps. Before she can answer, something brushes past him, too, and he yelps, scrambling backwards and into the attic, pulling Lydia along with him. 

Without hesitation, she follows him in, holding on to him as she looks around but it’s too dark to see _anything_. “I hear something,” she whispers, heart beating fast.

It’s dark because he’s dropped his flashlight somewhere on the ground -- possibly down the stairs. He wraps one arm around her waist as he reaches out with his other hand to feel for a light switch along the wall. There’s a loud _bang_ and he jumps, pulling her back farther and out of the way. “Okay you heard that too, right?” 

Lydia jumps when he does, reaching out and holding on to his shirt as she presses against his side. “ _Yes_.” She shudders as she looks around. “Where’s the flashlight? I can’t _see_.” 

“I dropped it when you screamed and tackled me,” he responds, not meanly. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone, pressing the flashlight button on it and shining it around. “Oh. The door just closed.” He exhales, glancing down at her.

She lets out a breath, looking down at the door, then back at him. As she turns her head, however, she sees something moving out of the corner of her eye and points in that direction as she gasp. “There!” 

He quickly swivels the phone around in the direction she’s pointing, at the same time moving so he’s standing between her and whatever’s moving, blocking her with his body and pressing her back against the door. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest and after a moment, he takes a step toward it, narrowing his eyes. “It’s just a raccoon.” He sounds almost disappointed.

Lydia is right behind him, pressed against his back. When she sees the animal. When it _hisses_ at them, she takes a step back and pulls Stiles back with her. “It’s _vicious_!” 

“It’s just freaked out because it’s cornered,” he assures her. “We’ll just -- go back downstairs and leave it alone.” He reaches behind them, tugging on the door handle and growing still. He bites his lip, closes his eyes and lets his chin drop to his chest when it doesn’t budge. 

Once again, she’s right behind him. And when he grows still, she grows impatient. “C’mon Stiles. Let’s go.” 

“We can’t.” 

“What do you mean we can’t? I’m not _feeling_ anything other than disgust, right now, Stiles. Let’s _go_.” 

“We can’t because…” He sighs, resting his forehead against the door. “The door is stuck.” 

“...Stuck?” She stares at him, then reaches around him and pulls at the handle as hard as she can.

He arches his eyebrows, moving out of her way as she tries to open the door. Behind them, the raccoon hisses again. “Yeah. Stuck.” 

She takes a deep, shuddering when it hisses again. Then she focuses on Stiles. “Get us out of here.” 

Stiles looks from her to the door and then at the racoon, which hasn’t moved, but is definitely growling at them. He groans a little and shifts his gaze to his phone, hitting the first speed dial button and waiting. 

Lydia shifts closer to him again, turning until she’s facing the raccoon. 

“...Stiles?” Scott answers sleepily a moment later.

“Yep, it’s me. And I need your help. And yes I realize it’s almost four thirty in the morning and we have a test in chemistry in four hours.” He sighs. He’s never going to live this down. 

 

***

 

By the time Lydia gets to school the following morning, she’s wearing a little more make-up than usual, her hair is actually in a braid (which is her secret for bad hair days, because yes, even she has those), and she doesn’t look too happy as she makes her way to her locker. 

“You look terrible,” Malia tells her as she stops at her locker. 

Her eyes narrow at the other girl for a moment, then she reaches to open her locker. “Thank you.” 

“You always get A’s on everything. Why do you stay up so late studying?” She shakes her head, looking confused.

“I was in bed by _midnight_.” It’s almost like she can _feel_ Stiles entering the school. Because a moment later, she looks toward the hall and her eyes narrow in his direction. “Until _he_ showed up.”

“There are way worse things than having _Stiles_ wake you up in the middle of the night,” Malia responds with a smirk, looking over at him for a moment and then back at Lydia. Without waiting for the redhead to respond, she takes off down the hall.

Lydia gapes after Malia. A look of disgust on her face. Because no, the _last_ thing she wants right now, is the mental image of Stiles waking Malia up in the middle of the night and-- _no_. 

If anything, it helps her wake up more. Because suddenly, there’s an emotion she can’t quite grasp burning in her stomach. She’ll go with disgust and go back to getting her books out of her locker before she’s late for class on top of everything else.

Stiles makes his way over to her locker after stopping by his own, reaching out and grabbing her bag off her shoulder wordlessly and thrusting a cup of steaming hot latte at her. “Here you go.” His voice is hopeful.

Just as she closes her locker, he shows up. She sees the cup first, then slowly looks up at him, arching her eyebrows.

“Just the way you like it,” he assures her. “There’s a blueberry muffin in my bag, too.” 

“You brought me breakfast?” And no, for the record, she didn’t have time to eat this morning. Because of course she was late and getting ready took longer than usual.

“Yes?” He searches her eyes, hoping for some sign that she’s not too angry with him for dragging her out of bed and getting them locked in an attic with an angry raccoon in a house that turned out to be very not-haunted. 

Lydia holds his gaze for a moment, considering him. But eventually, she does reach out and takes the latte from his hand. Before sipping, though, she holds his gaze again. “No more internet searches for haunted houses.” 

Stiles groans. “How about no more dragging you out of bed over internet searches for haunted houses?” 

She rolls her eyes and gives him a look. “Fine.”

His expression brightens and he hefts her bag onto his shoulder. “Walk to you class?” he offers even as he digs through his own bag and holds out the muffin he got her before school. 

The hint of a smile appears on her lips and she reaches out for her muffin, then nods a little. “We’re headed the same way, anyway.” 

Stiles grins at that and starts to head toward her classroom as he falls into step with her. So he’d been wrong about the house being haunted. As long as Lydia didn’t hate him, he didn’t care that much. Besides. The next supernatural thing was bound to happen soon enough without him searching for it. 

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback, guys! Here's chapter 2 with a little more angst. Enjoy! :)

It’s about a week later when she hears a very familiar noise outside her window. Lydia cocks her head as she sets her book down on her lap and glances at the clock. Almost one in the morning. 

Lydia gets up off her bed and makes her way to the window, not at all surprised to find the blue jeep parked outside, and Stiles stepping out of the vehicle. She doesn’t say anything, just cocks her head as she leans over enough so that he’ll see her there if he looks up. 

As if on cue, he looks up. He lifts his hand in a wave and motions toward the Martin’s front door before heading in that direction, chewing his thumbnail as he waits for her. 

She cocks her head and purses her lips together. But a moment later, she does make her way downstairs and opens the door for him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Missing person report,” he tells her grimly. “Group of kids went into the woods two days ago. One of them never came back out. They looked for her, but nothing. Nadda. Officially missing.” 

Lydia arches her eyebrows at his explanation and nods slowly. “Is your _dad_ looking into that?” 

“Yes? But to be fair that’s never stopped us from looking into things before,” he points out. 

“No, but-- a missing person’s case isn’t necessarily supernatural either, Stiles.” She leans against the doorframe sideway and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Not necessarily, no, but we _are_ in Beacon Hills and apparently the location they’ve focused on isn’t that far from our favorite tree.” He arches his eyebrows. 

Lydia straightens up at that. “So what’s your theory?” 

“That we better try and figure out if this is a case we need to be looking into before my dad’s department figures out if it’s a case they’re not prepared to handle and call in the FBI,” he responds. “I already called Scott. He’s going to meet us at the Preserve.” 

She does see his point, so she’s not going to argue anymore. Especially if Scott is already headed out there on his own. “I’m gonna go get my shoes.” 

“Might grab an umbrella too. I listened to weather report on the way over -- apparently there’s a storm moving in.” Of course. 

“As long as there aren’t any _racoons_ ,” she calls back as she starts upstairs.

He winces at that, shakes his head and sighs. “Wild animals in the _woods?_ Definitely not,” he calls back. 

Lydia pauses and looks back at him. “At least we’ll have an alpha with us this time. You know, in case we get _stuck_.” 

Stiles scowls. “Would you go find your shoes?” 

She throws him a look, then smirks a little before turning to go upstairs again.

He makes a face at her and moves to the door to wait. “I swear to god half my life is waiting on Lydia Martin to pick out shoes,” he mumbles.

 

***

 

“Are you sure he’s already here?” Lydia asks as she and Stiles make their way further into the woods about twenty minutes later.

“Unless he’s started lying to me, yeah.” He holds his phone out to show her the text he’d gotten from Scott a half hour before that he was there and waiting.

That earns him a look from her, but a second later she looks around the woods for a moment. “Scott?” 

“He’s probably waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and scare the shit out of us,” he grumbles. “Scott!” 

A second later he appears in front of them, eyes glowing red momentarily until he blinks and they return to their normal brown. “I haven’t had any luck so far,” he tells them.

Lydia gasps quietly and looks at Scott for a moment. “No scent?” she asks, cocking her head. 

“A lot of different ones, but nothing I can pick out because I don’t know the --” Scott pauses and looks at Stiles, who’s holding out a plastic bag with a shirt inside. “Dude. Did you steal some of the girl’s clothes?” 

“... _borrowed_ ,” Stiles corrects him. 

“ _Borrowed_ from the evidence locker, I assume?” Lydia shakes her head a little. Not much of a point in arguing with him at this point. 

“With permission,” he defends. 

Scott reaches out and takes the shirt, then sniffs it silently.

Lydia sighs softly, watching Scott for a moment then looking around. “Well, I don’t feel like screaming.” 

“That’s a good thing. Maybe she’s still alive,” Scott says hopefully. He glances between the two of them. “You guys stick together, I’m gonna follow my nose.” 

With a nod, Lydia turns to look around again, using the flashlight she also remembered to bring this time. _Just in case_.

Stiles smirks a little when she pulls out her flashlight, and he reaches into his pocket and turns on his own, as well. He was just glad it hadn’t broken when he dropped it down the stairs at the not-so-haunted house the week before. “Okay guess we’re on our own.” 

“Let’s see if we can find the Nemeton this time,” she says as she glances at him, then starts in the direction she’s fairly sure it’s in.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He pulls out his cell phone, too. “I put the coordinates in my phone.” 

Lydia pauses at that, cocking her head, a little impressed. “Think that’s gonna work?” 

“Hopefully. As long as it hasn’t gotten up and moved. Which…” He shrugs, not discounting the possibility, however unlikely.

“Is likely,” she says, sighing softly before looking around again. “It’s a smart idea, though. I guess we’ll find out if it works with the supernatural.” 

“Yep.” He falls into step with her, following the map on his phone, occasionally looking up to make sure she’s still there, and make sure he doesn’t fall flat on his face. 

As they walk through the dark woods, Lydia keeps trying her best to concentrate, to hear something. But aside from a shiver down her spine… “I’m still not getting anything,” she says quietly as they approach the supposed Nemeton are.

“Okay that’s good, right? No feeling means probably not dead?” His voice is hopeful. Maybe the girl got turned into a werewolf. Or some other supernatural creature.

“Good, yes,” she agrees, stiling when she sees the Nemeton in front of them. “But if Scott and I can’t find anything…” 

“Then there’s nothing to find,” Stiles finishes, voice reassuring. “And maybe she just didn’t want to be found.” Ultimately that may be the best outcome anyway. At least for the missing girl.

“Maybe,” she agrees quietly, glancing at him for a moment before approaching the Nemeton. 

He glances up from his phone, watching her and holding his breath as she approaches the stump. God, he hates that tree. Just being this close to it makes him feel anxious. He wants to reach out and grab her arm, stop her from getting any closer to it. His heart’s beating faster than usual and he swallows hard. “Lyds, maybe you shouldn’t get so close.” 

“I’m feeling--” she starts, her voice softer than before, like she’s half lost in her on head. “Like a shiver down my spine. It’s getting stronger,” she adds, eyes on the Nemeton for a moment longer, then unfocusing as she looks ahead.

Stiles moves closer to her, hovers beside her worriedly. “I’m with you,” he whispers, voice barely audible. He’s not even sure she hears him. 

She doesn’t move for a moment, and then, snaps out of it, shaking her head as she turns to look at him. “It must be because there were dozens of bodies here not too long ago. And because of this place.” 

“Maybe,” he says, sounding doubtful. 

Lydia purses her lips together, thinking for a moment, then shakes her head. “Let’s keep looking.” 

Stiles glances at her and nods, shining his flashlight around and trying to figure out where to go from there. 

As she makes her way around the Nemeton, Lydia sees something on the ground. She doesn’t even notice that Stiles isn’t following her as she starts to walk away.

“Maybe this really is just a human thing for the police to deal with,” he says after a moment, voice quieter than before. “You know, maybe I’m just...reaching again, like with the haunted house.” He exhales and stares into the trees. “I think I’m having second thoughts about all of us leaving Beacon Hills. You know? What happens when we all leave for college and things really _do_ blow up here? You really think _Liam_ is gonna be able to handle it? I mean, nothing against the kid, but he’s not the brightest crayon in…” His voice trails off and he looks toward where Lydia’s standing. Or where he’d _thought_ she was standing. She’s not there anymore. 

“...Lydia?” 

Everything is silent for a moment, and then: “Stiles! Scott!” 

Stiles’s eyes widen and he crashes through the treeline, following the sound of Lydia’s yelling. He trips over some tree roots but catches himself on a tree trunk instead of hitting the ground. “Lydia!” 

“This way!” Scott tells Stiles just as he runs past him, eyes glowing.

Stiles follows Scott, splashing through puddles as he runs. “Where is she?” There’s fear in his voice. “Lydia!” 

“Stiles!” She calls back a moment later.

“C’mon,” Scott calls out for his best friend as he continues through the woods. A moment later, he pauses by a clearing. And a pond.

“I think I found her,” Lydia whispers a moment later, her voice cracking.

Stiles arrives at Scott’s side, panting for breath and looking over to where Lydia’s standing near the edge of the pond. His stomach drops. He _knows_ this pond. It’s where Theo’s sister died. “Oh shit,” he whispers.

Lydia takes a step back as she wraps her arms around herself. “I’ve been here before.”

“So have I,” he says grimly, moving to her side and glancing at Scott. “It’s where Theo murdered his sister.” 

She nods slightly in response to Stiles. She was here, in her head.

Scott glances at the other two, then steps forward. “The smell… there’s something strong, but I don’t think I’ve ever smelled something like this before.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, reaching out and resting a hand on the small of Lydia’s back instinctively. “What does it smell like?” 

“Like… sadness. But stronger than that. Heartbreak, maybe…” he says quietly. “But it’s different.”

His stomach sinks at that, because between the way that Lydia has gone pale and what Scott’s describing, he’s pretty sure the missing victim is dead. He swallows heavily and shifts past both of them, moving as close to the edge of the water as he can without actually getting wet and searching the pond with his flashlight. After a moment, he sees a flash of something dark in the water. “I think I see her.” 

Lydia steps forward and, without thinking about it, reaches out and takes Stiles’ free hand in hers. 

“Yeah, that’s-- someone,” Scott confirms, eyes glowing once again.

He feels Lydia’s hand wrap around his own and he takes a deep breath. “Does anything about this feel supernatural to either of you?” 

“I’m not catching other scents around here,” Scott says. 

“I don’t know,” Lydia adds a moment later, eyes on the girl. It’s a weird mix of feelings. “I can feel what Scott said he’s smelling.” A deep-seated sadness. Her heart feels heavy but she also feels numb. 

“I’m gonna call my dad,” he says after a moment, glancing back at them, trying to push away the guilt he’s feeling. He squeezes Lydia’s hand lightly and then lets go, pulling his phone back out of his pocket.

“I’ll run back and meet up with him by the road,” Scott says. “You guys should head back, too.”

“Yeah.” Stiles watches him head away and glances at Lydia as he makes the call to his dad to let him know they found the missing girl. 

Lydia glances back at him, holding his gaze for a moment. There’s a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She listens to his conversation for a moment, then turns to look at the body again as she silently steps forward, closer to the water.

He hangs up the phone and reaches out just as she makes it to the edge of the water, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s go meet up with Scott. My dad’s on the way.” 

She leans slightly into his touch and nods a little, turning to look at him. “Yeah.”

Stiles meets her eyes and wraps his arm around her shoulders, guiding her away from the pond...away from yet another person they didn’t manage to save. 

Lydia remains quiet for a long moment, leaning into him as they walk back. “I’m sorry I didn’t get ready faster.” 

“Hey. Hey, no. This isn’t your fault, Lydia,” he says firmly, looking down at her. 

She looks up at him and purses her lips together. “After the other night, I was so sure we weren’t gonna find anything.”  
“Yeah, well.” He exhales, shoulders dropping. “That’s my fault, not yours.” 

“You’re always right when stuff like this happens, Stiles…” she sighs a little, stilling so she can turn to look at him. “But because everything has been so quiet, I figured-- maybe you were getting bored. And I’m sorry.” 

He holds his breath at that, chewing his lower lip. “It’s been _too_ quiet. I just -- I’m afraid when there is something it’s going to be something really big, you know?” He exhales. “And...I wasn’t right last time.” 

“Once,” she tells him quietly, shaking her head. “I guess-- I wanted you to be wrong.” She wants the quiet. She wants the normal. She wants college applications and movie nights and study sessions. Not-- this.

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just falls silent, and tugs her a little closer to his side. 

She slides her arm under his over shirt for warmth and leans into his side again before starting back toward the jeep.

 

***

 

It’s almost four thirty in the morning and he’s in the process of dozing off on the wooden bench in his dad’s office when he hears footsteps approaching and blinks several times, glancing to where Lydia’s fallen asleep on his shoulder. He tries again to ignore the guilt he feels in his chest for dragging both her and Scott into something that turned out to be decidedly _not_ supernatural. He leans his head against Lydia’s for a moment before looking up when his dad steps into the office. “Shh,” he murmurs, nodding slightly at Lydia. 

The Sheriff eyes the two of them tiredly and shakes his head. “You two can go home. We’re handling this one, Stiles.” 

That’s enough for Lydia to wake up. She shifts on her seat, frowning for a moment in confusion. Then she glances up at the Sheriff. Stiles. And back at the Sheriff. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing that involves the pack,” Sheriff Stilinski tells them with a small, sad smile. “Nothing supernatural about this one.” 

Stiles exhales and rubs a hand over his face, reluctantly sitting up straighter on the bench. “Accident?” he guesses. 

“Go home, Stiles. It’s police business.” 

Lydia frowns a little at the words, looking up at the Sheriff as she sits up, too. “Scott and I could feel something weird about her when we found her. Like-- a sadness around her.” 

He sighs, looking at the two teens with nothing short of fond exasperation. “We found a note in her bedroom an hour ago.” 

“She killed herself,” Stiles whispers, insides going cold. 

Lydia’s eyes widen and her stomach drops at the words. Out of everything they’ve dealt with, out of everything she imagined this could be… she never even considered suicide. 

“Now, will the two of you please go home? Try and get some rest. You did a good job finding her, but there’s nothing more you can do here.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles blinks a couple of times, feeling dazed and slowly rising to his feet, holding his hand out to help Lydia up, too, since she’s still sleepy. 

Lydia takes his hand and moves to stand up. She looks at the Sheriff for a moment and purses her lips into a barely there smile, then squeezes Stiles’ hand to let him know she’s ready.

“See you later, Pops,” he tells his dad as he guides Lydia toward the office door. 

“Be careful,” the Sheriff calls out after them. 

She doesn’t say anything until they’re out in the parking lot and inside the jeep. “You okay?” she asks quietly as she tugs on the seatbelt.

“Yeah.” His voice is just as quiet and he sends a quick text to Scott, who’d gone home about an hour before, relatively sure that this had nothing to do with werewolves or demons or Dread Doctors or Theo Raeken. He glances at her and sets his phone down in the middle console before sliding his keys into the ignition. He’s silent for a moment. “You wanna just come over til it’s time to go to school?” 

Lydia arches her eyebrows at the offer, but nods a moment later. Somehow, the fact that this wasn’t supernatural at all makes it worse. Because there’s nothing they can do about it. Could have done about it. “Yeah.”

He offers her a small smile and starts the jeep, shifting it into gear and focusing on the road. He flips the windshield wipers on as raindrops splatter across the glass. “Looks like we made it to the jeep just in time,” he says.

She blinks as she looks up at the windshield, looking at the raindrops for a moment and nodding. “At least it missed us this time.”  
This time, he thinks, tightening his hand around the steering wheel. In a few minutes, he’s pulling into his driveway, pulling up as close as he can so she doesn’t get drenched on the way to the door. He pulls the keys from his ignition, finds the house key and holds it out to her wordlessly. 

Lydia’s face softens when she realizes what he’s doing. She smiles a little at him, then reaches for the keys. Within a moment, she steps out of the jeep and dashes toward the front door. She’s not exactly gonna have time to do her hair this morning, after all.

He flies out of the jeep after her, not bothering with putting up his hood. He follows Lydia inside the house and closes the door behind them, locking the locks. “I’ll turn the heat on.” 

“Thanks,” she says quietly as she shrugs off her coat and hangs it by the door. Hanging he purse on top of it before following him further into the house.

He flips the heat on and moves back over to her, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up by the door. “Hungry?” 

“Not really, thank you,” she answers quietly, looking up at him. 

“Me either,” he admits. He wants to apologize for dragging her out of her house in the middle of the night _again_ over something no one could do anything about. 

“We can just-- relax a little before we have to go.” It’s not like they have a lot of time left. Mostly, she agreed to come over because she didn’t want him to be alone. But also because she didn’t want to be on her own.

Stiles nods at that and glances at the couch. “We could watch some TV,” he suggests. 

“Yeah,” Lydia agrees with a soft smile at him. “That works.”

He grabs the remote off the coffee table and drops down onto the sofa, kicking his feet up onto the table and motioning for her to join him. 

She sits down right next to him, removes her boots off and pulls her feet on the couch carefully. “I’m afraid to find out what’s on TV at what, almost five in the morning?”

He smiles a little at that. “World news, infomercials, marathons of Matlock, I Love Lucy, and Friends. Choose your poison.” He holds the remote out to her. 

At that, she turns to look at him, arching her eyebrows and cocking her head, but not reaching for that remote. “Do you actually sleep? Ever?”

“Every other Tuesday and at least three hours on Fridays,” he jokes, arching his eyebrows, too.

Lydia smiles a little, then gives him a look as she pulls the remote from his hand and turns on Friends. It’s easy, familiar, and she’s fairly sure they’ve each seen all episodes a dozen times before. Besides, she’s fairly sure there won’t be any references to anything they don’t wanna think about. “You’re gonna fit in just fine in college.”

“I fit in fine everywhere,” he teases, draping his arm around her shoulders. And he’s also a hell of a liar.

“Mhmm,” she teases as she shifts closer to him, half leaning against his side without even noticing she’s doing it. “I remember junior high. And freshman year.”

“I was the model example of fitting in,” he jokes, yawning involuntarily. 

Lydia grins softly as she turns to look at the TV, but reaches and pats his leg. “Keep telling yourself that.”

He can’t help but smile in return, shaking his head slightly and focusing on the TV the best that he can for now.


	3. Chapter 3

For two weeks, he restrains himself from over-analyzing anything and everything he finds that might in some way be connected to the supernatural. At the start of week three, he finds himself outside of the Martin’s house, scrambling out of his jeep and making a run for the front door. He knows Natalie is out of town at a teacher’s conference in L.A., so he rings the bell rapidly and waits. 

She nearly has a heart attack at the noise. She had passed out on the couch, reading, so she’s more than a little disoriented as she makes her way over to the door. When she opens it, she squints for a moment, then just cocks her head and stares at Stiles blankly.

He doesn’t wait for an invitation, just brushes past her, talking rapidly and setting his bag down on the coffee table next to her books. “You’re not going to believe what I’ve found. Okay so there’ve been some animal attack reports lately coming through the department, but not the werewolf kind. Like, blood being drained from other animals kind,” he tells her. “So I went and staked out the preserve and I found this.” He grabs his bag again, opening it and pulling out a sharp wooden stake, holding it out to her. “But not just this, also this.” He pulls out a silver necklace next and holds it out too. 

Lydia follows him back into the living room, listening to his words and staring at the objects he’s waving around. But there’s one particular thing she focuses on: “you went out to the preserve by yourself?”

“Yeah? I do it all the time.” Probably not what she wants to hear, but he’s not really thinking about it, because he’s caught up in his thoughts. “I’ve been studying the Bestiary, and there’s a symbol in it just like the one on that necklace. And it’s very clear to me what we’re dealing with here.” 

No. That’s definitely not what she wants to hear. She lifts a hand to make him stop talking. Because he’s suddenly going into symbols and Bestiary and she’s so not awake enough for that. “You can’t go there by yourself Stiles, what the hell are you thinking?”

“That we’re having a sudden onset of vampires and it’s a matter of time before they start attacking people, if they haven’t already,” he responds without missing a beat. 

Her eyes widen at that. “ _Vampires_?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. And they may already have taken a human victim because it looks like somebody was onto them.” He holds up the stake and arches his eyebrows. 

She frowns hard as she reaches for the stake, her heart skipping a beat. “Where did you get this?”

“At the preserve,” he tells her.  
Lydia looks the stake over for a moment, pursing her lips together as she grows very quiet. “There are no markings on it…” 

“Right. And no blood that I could see either. Maybe I should call Scott, have him check it out just in case.” 

“Allison had a similar one in her room,” she adds after a moment, looking up at him.

Stiles grows completely still at that, holding his breath. 

“It had the Argent symbol carved on it, though. It’s not--” Lydia shakes her head, holding the stake back out to him.

“Not the same stake. But it’s _a_ stake.” He hesitates a second. “Did Allison ever mention vampires to you?”

“No,” she says quietly, looking up at him. “Does the Bestiary talk about vampires?”

“I mean, I haven’t gotten to read the whole thing yet,” he admits. “I’m still working my way through translations.” 

“Let me see,” she says as she sits down on the couch and holds her hand out for the book.

“I...didn’t bring it with me,” Stiles says, grimacing.

Lydia sighs and gives him a look as she leans back against the couch. “Did you find any evidence of vampires on it in the parts you _did_ translate?” 

“Well, _no_ , but to be fair I’m literally only a quarter of the way through it.” A hint of defensiveness creeps into his tone. 

“So because you found a stake, you assumed that vampires were involved but you have no actual evidence they even actually exist?” she asks, arching her eyebrows.

“Okay, did you miss the part about the animal attacks and animals found drained of blood? And our best friend is an alpha werewolf. How are vampires even a stretch of the imagination for you?” 

“And yet, we’ve never heard of an actual vampire anywhere around here. Or heard any stories about them before. Or seen a half-vampire chimera.” She gives him a look again. “What we _have_ seen are vampiric animals that are perfectly normal. Vampire bats are real, they do drink blood from other animals. Leeches. Vampire Finches. This isn’t necessarily supernatural, Stiles.”

“Vampire _finches?_ ” he echoes, staring at her like he’s not sure if she’s messing with him. 

“Yes. The _Geospiza difficilis septentrionalis_.” She stares back, because no, she’s definitely not messing with him.

He opens his mouth to respond to that, then closes it again, still staring. “Okay, but again, we lived for sixteen years without a clue that _werewolves_ were a thing. You don’t think vampires are remotely plausible? After _everything_ we’ve seen?” 

“Remotely plausible, I guess. But how big were the animals killed in the woods?” she asks, cocking her head.

He narrows his eyes at her, folds his arms across his chest. “Size isn’t _everything_.” 

At that, she arches her eyebrows. “A predator who needs a lot of blood to keep itself fed isn’t going to go after small animals, Stiles. It’s going to choose one or two that can satiate its hunger.” 

He heaves a sigh, then reaches out and pulls the stake away from her, sliding it back into his bag, and sliding the necklace back in, too. He grabs the bag off the table. “Fine. I’ll figure it out by myself.” 

Lydia sighs too and gets up. “Didn’t you even find that stake near a drained animal?”

“No. But I found it not far from the Nemeton.” Which for him, spells more trouble than finding it near dead animals. 

“It might not be related. And this might have been there for a while,” she points out.

“It wasn’t there last week,” he tells her with raised eyebrows. 

“Stiles.” Something suddenly feels tight in her stomach. “Have you been going to the _Nemeton_ on a weekly basis?”

Stiles falters. “Not… _every_ week.” 

Her face falls a little and she shakes her head. “You can’t do that.” 

He sighs and turns away from her, rubbing a hand over his face. He wishes he hadn’t brought it up at all, hadn’t mentioned the Nemeton, simply for the fact that now she’s going to worry about it and probably tell _Scott_ , who will worry about it, and then he’ll feel guilty any time he goes to try and investigate anything by himself. “You should -- go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up again.” 

She is _definitely_ telling Scott and possibly the Sheriff in the morning. But for now, she’ll try to help him the best she can. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing as he turns to glance at her, halfway to the door.

“Trying to put yourself in danger,” she says, stepping forward, toward him.

He blinks, looking surprised at her response. “I’m not -- putting myself in danger. I’m just doing what I’ve always done, trying to keep ahead of the game.” Trying to make sure they have the advantage when things get bad. Trying to prepare them, so more people don’t end up dead. 

“Maybe that’s not what you intend to do. But it _is_ what you’re doing when you go out to the preserve and especially the Nemeton by yourself,” she points out, her voice quiet.

“Fine. I’ll stop going out there by myself.” He sighs, looking away from her. It’s not like he loves going out to where the damn tree stump is. He just sees it as a necessity to make sure nothing out of the norm is happening with it. Like Parrish dumping bodies there. 

“And you know I want to help,” she adds after a moment. “But-- there’s nothing going on, Stiles. It’s been quiet for weeks.”

“Too quiet, Lydia.” His own voice drops. “Eerily, painstakingly too quiet. Like…” He searches for the metaphor he wants. “Like the calm before the storm.” 

“And if that’s what it is…” she steps closer to him, holding his gaze. “Shouldn’t we take this time to focus on school and college applications and _ourselves_ before the next wave of supernatural creatures shows up?”

“Personally, I’d rather spend my time preparing for the potential fallout when the shitstorm finally does hit,” he says honestly, pressing his lips together. 

“But if there’s _nothing_ for us to prepare now, you’re just unnecessarily stressing yourself out,” she points out, looking up at him worriedly. “You haven’t been sleeping, Stiles. You’re just focusing on-- finding something. Anything. Something that isn’t there.” 

His stomach tightens at the worry in her voice. In her eyes. Maybe she’s right, he thinks. He’s been doing this for weeks, looking into things that turn out to be absolutely nothing that involve the supernatural, dragging his friends and his dad through it all with him. He licks his lips, looking away from her again and exhaling slowly. “Yeah.” 

“Why don’t you sit down and we can watch something for a while?” Because really, she feels bad about shutting him down like that. Even if she’s pretty sure she’s right. He believed he was right, too.

He considers that for a moment, glancing from her to the TV to the clock beside it. 1:27 AM. He winces, then shakes his head, looking at her once more. “You know, I think I’m just gonna head home and try to get some sleep. You should, too.” Which is what she was probably doing before he’d shown up and woken her -- _again._ “School in the morning,” he adds lightly. “And if I remember correctly, _you_ have a physics test.” 

Her chest tightens when he turns her down. But she just nods slightly. She’s not going to push him into staying if he doesn’t want to. If he’s not comfortable with being here. He said he wasn’t going to go back out there and she has to believe him that he won’t. And it has to be good enough until she can tell Scott about this in the morning. “Yeah.” 

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he just gazes at her for a moment, then offers her a lopsided smile. “See you at school in a few hours?” And yes, he’ll be bringing her coffee again. Because he might be an inconsiderate asshole, but...sometimes he remembers to apologize.

Lydia smiles a little back at him and nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning,” she says quietly as she steps forward to open the door for him.

“Sorry I woke you up,” he says sincerely, holding onto the strap of his bag as he steps out onto the sidewalk in front of her house. 

“It’s okay, Stiles.” She watches him head toward the jeep. Opens her mouth, then closes it again. She almost asks him to let her know he got home okay. Even though it’s just a seven minute drive, this is still Beacon Hills. But maybe she’s said enough to him about his safety for one night.

He lifts his hand in a little wave as he pries open his jeep door, tosses the bag into his passenger seat, and climbs into the driver’s side. He slides his keys into the ignition, glances at the clock on his dashboard and exhales. A few hours until school. He could probably just squeeze in another hour or two of research on local wildlife to see how plausible her theory was about the blood draining thing and still sleep for a couple hours before his first class. He isn’t really tired anyway. 

***

 

After Biology, Lydia makes her way to the front of the classes and tosses her now empty coffee cup in the trash. Just as Scott is walking past her, she reaches out for his wrist. “You have a free period now, right?”

Scott turns to look at her, surprised when she grasps onto his wrist and he cocks his head. “Yeah, why? Everything okay?” 

“For now, yeah. But we should talk.” She glances down the hallway, half expecting Stiles to show up. He usually joins them at the library when they all have free periods together. 

He frowns, following her gaze down the hallway, but not seeing any sign of his best friend. He glances back at Lydia. “Did something happen?” His voice drops and he searches her face for clues. 

“Not yet,” she answers, not wanting to say too much just yet. Then she shifts her books in her arms and makes her way across the hall into an empty classroom.

That doesn’t sound good. He glances up and down the hallway for any sign of their other pack mates and then follows her into the empty classroom, closing the door quietly behind them. “Lydia, what’s going on?” 

“I’m worried about Stiles,” she says finally, once the door is closed.

His entire stance shifts slightly, concern flickering in his expression. “Why? Did he say something?” 

“I can’t be the only one he’s been dragging out of bed on several occasions just on a hunch that something supernatural is going on.” 

Scott pauses at that, troubled. “You mean, aside from the raccoon in the attic and a couple weeks ago when we found that girl?” His voice is quiet, uncertain. 

“Both of those time, and last night again. He came over to my house, talking about vampires,” she says quietly with a sigh.

_”Vampires?_ ” he repeats, eyes widening a little. “There are vampires now?” 

“No, Scott, there aren’t vampires, and that’s the point,” Lydia adds. “He’s just-- looking into things. Into everything, hoping to find a sign that something is wrong.”

Scott’s quiet for a moment, considering what she’s saying and then exhaling, setting his bookbag down in one of the chairs. “Stiles has always been a little...obsessive about things.” And people, but he doesn’t say that. “Ever since we were little kids. He’d get an idea in his head and that’s all he’d focus on for days. Weeks, even.” Years, in some cases. 

“I know, but most things he obsessed about before didn’t have him going into the preserve, and to the _Nemeton_ by himself in the middle of the night.” And she’s really hoping Scott will see her point now.

He does. His eyes widen immediately and a chill runs through him as he thinks about all the times his best friend had slept walk to odd places -- sometimes to his house, sometimes to the sheriff’s station, but the worst was when he’d slept walk his way to the woods and nearly died from hypothermia. “But he’s not -- I mean, he’s awake right? It’s a conscious thing?” 

“He’s awake,” she reassures him quickly. “He’s aware of what he’s doing. He said he’s just-- trying to figure out what’s going to happen next so we can stop it before it’s too late but-- I really don’t think there’s anything brewing right now.” 

Scott moves to sit down in one of the chairs, looking troubled. “So either his anxiety is acting up or his boredom is.” Either way, it isn’t a good thing. Not if Stiles is going out to the woods alone at all hours of the night. 

“Possibly both,” she adds quietly. “I’m not sure if trying to distract him by hanging out more with him would be a solution. I almost feel like taking him away from his research would make it worse.”

“Probably,” he admits, grimacing. “I can try talking to him, but…” He hesitates, looking up at her. “Truthfully until it just -- gets out of his system, it’s...not going to get out of his system.” 

“Any ideas how we can make that happen faster?” she asks, a frown setting on her expression. 

“Usually the only way I’ve been able to break Stiles out of his obsessions is to give him something new to obsess over,” he admits with a faint, wry smile. “Usually unintentionally. You should have seen him after I first got the bite.” 

Up until then, Stiles had been completely obsessed with how to make Lydia fall in love with him by the time they graduated from college, and most of that plan had entailed getting on the lacrosse team, usurping Jackson as the captain, becoming a lacrosse star and dragging Scott with him the whole way. 

That had died freshman year when they both made the team but it was obvious how bad they both sucked at lacrosse. His obsession over getting Lydia to fall in love with him hadn’t died, he’d just re-designed the ten year plan. A tiny smile touches his mouth at the memory. It feels like an eternity ago, long before werewolves and banshees and kitsunes and hunters and werecoyotes were ever in the picture. When it had been just the two of them against the world. 

“Believe it or not, it’s not hard to imagine that.” But then Scott starts smiling and she cocks her head a little. Because she’s still very much worried about Stiles. And if Scott is seemingly relaxing, she’d like to know why. “What is it?”

“I was just -- remembering, I guess. It seems like a long time ago but it wasn’t, really.” He smiles faintly and meets her eyes. He rises to his feet again, reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll be okay,” he assures her. 

That does help a little. She takes a deep breath and nods, willing herself to relax some. “Let me know if you think there’s anything I can do to help. After last night, I don’t think he’ll be calling me or showing up on my doorstep for help with things like this anymore.” And she can’t help the disappointment she feels at that. Even if she’s _glad_ there’s nothing supernatural going on, she doesn’t mind hanging out with Stiles, brainstorming things. She more than doesn’t mind it…

“Are _you_ okay?” Scott questions, searching her eyes. “You kinda have this faraway look in your eyes.” 

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, a smile automatically appearing on her lips as she focuses on Scott for a moment, then looks over at the door. “We should probably find him before he has a heart attack because we’re not at the library.”

A short chuckle escapes him at that and he nods, squeezing her shoulder and then heading toward the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia has just finished writing an essay for her Stanford college application. And while it wasn’t necessarily _hard_ , it did take a lot of concentration, so she’s pretty tired. She _needs_ to make sure she gets into Stanford, which she doesn’t think is going to be a problem. But she also needs to make sure she gets a really good scholarship so she can actually afford to go there. While her grades are perfect, her attendance has suffered a lot in the past couple of years. And she doesn’t exactly have time for extracurricular activities anymore. 

It’s still early, not even eleven PM yet. But she turns off the lights and crawls into bed anyway, sighing softly as she closes her eyes almost immediately. 

For about a full second. 

Just then, her phone starts vibrating next to her pillow. A tiny part of her wants to ignore it, but she knows she could never ignore a phone call. Especially if it’s someone from the pack. Which, as she picks up her phone, it is. 

“Stiles?” she asks as soon as she pulls the phone to her ear, sitting up on the bed. If it wasn’t urgent, he’d have texted. Phone calls usually mean trouble.

“He’s evil.” His voice is hoarse, and it cracks between the e and the “vul” sound. There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the line, like he’s dropped the phone. It’s followed by the sound of the jeep’s engine roaring to life. 

“...Who, is evil?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before adding. “Are you okay?”

There’s a pause, followed by a cough. “Yeah, yeah. Mr. Douglas. The new science teacher. He’s evil.” 

Okay, nevermind his evil teacher theory. “Stiles, are you _sick_?”

“No,” he answers automatically. “I don’t get sick.” He suppresses the urge to cough again, reaching out and turning the police radio down a little when it squeals to life with the operator reporting a break in across town. 

“ _Yes_ , you do. Especially when you’re out in the woods in the middle of the night. And when you’re not getting enough sleep and-- you’re in the jeep! Why aren’t you at home? _Stiles_!” She doesn’t even try to keep the anger out of her voice. She could shake him sometimes.

He opens his mouth to respond, but only manages to cough again. “Hey, I’m not -- in the woods. I haven’t been in the woods in three weeks.” He reaches out and turns the air conditioner on because his skin feels too hot. He grimaces at the anger in her voice, because even when it’s just on the phone, Lydia and her wrath frighten him a little. Still. This time he’s definitely _right._

“Go _home_ Stiles,” she says firmly as she gets up and starts to dress herself. “I can hear the infection in your throat. Your tonsils are probably so inflamed, they’re meeting in the middle.” And no, she’s no doctor, but he does sound like he has a potato in his mouth. “I’m coming over and you better be there when I get to your house.” 

“Is that even _possible?_ ” He makes a face at the mental image it paints because it’s not a pretty one. And sure, his throat kind of hurts, and his sinuses are draining and his head feels like it could explode any minute, but he’s pretty sure it’s all just stress. Because he doesn’t _get_ sick. He hasn’t been sick in years. 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, don’t _go_ anywhere,” she says sharply, then hangs up on him.

“Lydi --” He pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a moment, groaning and tossing it into the middle console before steering the jeep toward his house. This was not good. 

***

She makes it to his house in twelve minutes. Just in time to see the jeep pulling up to his driveway. She parks right behind him, successfully blocking him from leaving again, and gets out of the car a second later with a bag in her hand. This time, she looks pretty much exactly the way she did when she got out of bed. Except she’s wearing a long coat on top of her pajamas.

He knows the second she parks right behind his jeep that he’s in trouble. He groans and lays his head back against the headrest for a moment, sighing and then coughing involuntarily. Stupid rain. He sighs and pulls the keys from the ignition and reluctantly pushes open the driver’s side door, grabbing his bag of supplies, which is drenched from the rain, draping it over his shoulder as he slides out of the vehicle. “I wasn’t in the woods,” he defends before she can say anything.

“You’re soaking wet,” she says as she takes the bag from him. It’s barely raining anymore, sprinkling only. But it was pouring about half an hour ago. “C’mon, inside.” 

Stiles heaves a sigh, reluctantly fishing his car keys out of his jacket pocket and making his way to the door, unlocking it. Fortunately for both of them, his dad was on duty at work tonight. “You didn’t have to come over,” he tells her. “I just wanted to give you the heads up about --” He coughs, grimacing and sniffling involuntarily as he reaches out and flips the lights on. “ -- the new teacher.” 

“And you can tell me about him _after_ you go upstairs, take a shower and put on some warm, dry clothes,” she says as she follows him into the house. “You sound _horrible_.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says wryly, reaching out for his bag. 

She just arches her eyebrows in response as she hands him his bag. 

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles, taking it from her and slowly making his way up the stairs. “But I’m _not_ sick!” 

“No, you just have strep throat and a possible sinus infection,” she responds, rolling her eyes as she watches him make his way upstairs.

“Okay, Dr. Martin,” he throws back over his shoulder before vanishing into his bedroom. 

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she mutters, staring up for a moment longer before going to turn on the heat.

***

Twenty minutes later, he steps out of the bathroom, in an oversized shirt and sweatpants, no socks on his feet, and still wet hair. His teeth are chattering with how damned cold the house is when he steps into his bedroom, freezing in the doorway when he spots Lydia sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a bowl of…

“You made me soup?” His voice cracks a little and he winces as wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to get warmer. 

“Technically I made it about two weeks ago, I just brought it over and warmed it up,” she says, getting up from the bed and nodding at it. “You looks like you’re freezing, you should get under the covers.”

“It’s because it’s freezing in here,” he says, even as he reluctantly makes his way to the bed, eager to get under the warm blankets. “That was really nice of you,” he tells her as he yanks back the covers, eying the soup. 

Lydia waits for him to settle on the bed before holding out the soup for him. “That’s because you must have a fever. I set the thermostat to 75.” 

Stiles takes the bowl from her and glances around, wondering where his bag went. “I can’t remember where I put my bag,” he complains, burrowing farther under the covers even as he takes a bite of the soup.

She gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed, keeping her eyes on him. “Well, it was soaked, and it was soaking your carpet, so I took it down to the laundry room.”

“Trust me, nothing hurts this carpet,” he says with a short laugh that ends with a cough. 

Lydia winces when he coughs. Without thinking about it, she shifts closer to him and presses the back of her hand to his forehead gently. “I really think you have a fever.”

He stills when she touches her hand to his forehead. “You shouldn’t get too close in case I’m contagious,” he says, voice hoarse. 

“I should really take you to see Melissa,” she says quietly, dropping her hand after a moment.

“Nooo.” He shrinks down farther into the bed, shaking his head. “She’ll stick me with a needle and I don’t do needles.” 

Lydia smirks a little at that, shaking her head back at him. “I’ll hold your hand.”

“Nope, no way. I don’t need a shot, but thank you for the offer.” He feels entirely comfortable being bluntly honest with her about the needle fear at this point. He doesn’t even care how much of a wuss it makes him. He takes another bite of the soup, letting his eyes close momentarily. “You made this homemade?” 

She smiles a little at his reaction, then nods. “Yeah. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome. Of course you’d be a great cook, too.” There’s a tiny smile on his face when he opens his eyes to look at her.

Lydia looks at him for a moment, smiling before she looks down and away. She then reaches for the bag she brought with her on the floor next to his bed. “I brought some meds, too. I grabbed everything I thought might help, so we need to narrow down your symptoms and figure out what’d be best for you.”

Stiles blinks a couple of times when he catches sight of the bag in her hand. It’s stuffed full. “You -- threw that all together in like, two minutes?” For _him?_

“It was probably a little more than two minutes,” she says, looking through the contents of the bag. “There are some cough drops, these won’t hurt, so once you’re done with the soup you should definitely have one.” 

He watches her for a moment, vision blurring momentarily and eyelids drooping. He takes a breath, coughing harshly and sitting up a little more so he doesn’t end up face-planting in his soup. “I don’t wanna make you sick.” 

“If I do get sick, at least it’s Friday and I have two days to recover,” she says, shrugging a shoulder as she sets the cough drops on the covers, next to him. “I’m not leaving you alone, Stiles.”

He feels a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with homemade soup and he ducks his head a little to hide a tiny, shy smile. “Okay, I should grab my bag, because I have to show you what I’ve found on Mr. Douglas.” 

“You’re not going anywhere,” and maybe she doesn’t sound as stern as she meant to because-- he just has that look on his face. “Finish eating, then I’ll go grab it for you.”

Stiles glances up at her, then takes another bite of the soup. Truth be told, he can’t even remember the last time he ate an actual meal that didn’t consist of a simple piece of fruit or, or a package of snack crackers. His stomach growls hungrily as he concentrates on eating and ignoring the dull ache seeping into his bones. Okay, so maybe she’s right and he’s sick. Maybe.

“You want more? I brought three portions. Liquids are good for you,” she adds quietly. Especially because of all the fresh vegetables she knows she used to make the soup.

“Maybe in a little while.” He offers her a small smile. He knows what happens if you haven’t had decent food in awhile and then overdo, and no thanks. 

“Okay,” she says quietly, keeping an eye on him as he eats.

He’s consciously aware that she’s watching him, watching every move he makes like he’s going to pass out or something right in front of her and his gaze darts up to meet hers. “I’m okay. I’ll be back on my feet by morning.” Or maybe by Sunday. Semantics.

“Not if I have a say on it,” she says, cocking her head. “You should rest at least through the weekend, Stiles.”

The likelihood that he’ll be _able_ to convince himself to stay in bed that long is slim. The last time he’d spent more than twelve hours in bed was after they’d expelled the Nogitsune from his body and he’d spent nearly a week recovering. He quickly shoves that thought aside. “The _whole_ weekend?” 

“At least until Sunday,” she tells him, arching her eyebrows.

He groans and rests his head back against his pillow. “I’ll probably die of boredom.” 

“If it helps, I don’t _think_ I can get sick like this anymore. And we know most of the pack can’t either, so we can keep you company,” she points out, smirking.  
She’s literally covered all the bases. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He sighs a little as he finishes the soup and sets the bowl on his headboard. For a moment he forgets about his bag, about the evidence he’s been gathering, and he snuggles down in the blankets in an attempt to get warm. 

“Do you want me to grab you a sweater? Or socks?” She doesn’t know how comfortable he’d be with her going through his closet but… he doesn’t look comfortable now either.

“I’m okay,” he assures her, then pauses. “I don’t suppose there’s any aspirin or advil in that bag?” 

Lydia smiles softly at him, then picks up the bag, taking a moment to go through it before she pulls out a bottle of advil. She opens it and hold it out to him as she reaches for the glass of water she brought up earlier and left it on his bedside table.

“Thanks,” he tells her, swallowing down the pills quickly and draining most of the water from the glass. He closes his eyes for a moment, then struggles to open them once more. “Mr. Douglas is evil,” he says, as if he just remembered he hadn’t told her about it yet. 

“Right.” Lydia reaches over to brush his hair from his forehead then takes the bowl and glass from him. “Why don’t I go grab your backpack for you?”

“Okay.” His eyes drift shut again and he yawns involuntarily.

She smiles softly when he yawns and gets up. She’s fairly sure he’ll be out by the time she comes back, which is exactly what she was planning. He needs rest, not to get worked up on the supernatural.

***

Sheriff Stilinski is tired when he arrives home early the next morning. He hangs up his jacket and makes his way upstairs, opening the door to Stiles’s room to check in on his trouble-prone son, and pausing when he spots the strawberry-blonde asleep in the chair beside the bed. Frowning, he glances around and spots a bag full of medicine on the floor beside her and then glances at his son. His face is on the pillow, one arm flung off the bed, covers pulled up all the way to his nose. His cheeks are flushed red. 

Fever, he thinks, surprised, because truthfully, Stiles _doesn’t_ get sick often. He can’t even remember the last time. 

He moves quietly across the room and feels his son’s forehead. Sure enough, he’s burning up. He sighs softly and removes one of the blankets from Stiles’s bed and carefully covers Lydia up with it since she doesn’t have a blanket. Then he shakes his head a little and heads back out of the room, pulling the door most of the way shut behind him, but not entirely. Just in case.

Lydia doesn’t notice the blanket for a moment. Just as the Sheriff is closing the door, she opens her eyes and pulls the blanket higher around herself. She was actually warm the previous night, before falling asleep, but she does remember curling up on the chair during the night because she got cold. 

With a yawn, she sits up and looks over at Stiles. She’s glad he’s still asleep, but she doesn’t love how red his face looks. She stands up and quietly, slowly makes her way over to the bed, reaching down and softly pressing her fingers to his forehead. And now she’s left to wonder if she should wake him up and have him take some ibuprofen or let him sleep it off for as long as he can.

He stirs a little in his sleep, exhaling in a huff in response to the cool fingertips against his face. He murmurs something inaudibly and pulls his arm back in beneath the blankets. 

“You’re cold,” she murmurs quietly, pulling her hand back and frowning a little. She doesn’t even hesitate before picking up the blanket from the chair and carefully throwing it over Stiles once again. 

“Don’t...touch her,” he whispers, voice cracking. 

Lydia stills completely at his words, cocking her head for a moment before leaning a little closer. “It’s okay,” she whispers to him since she’s fairly sure he’s dreaming.

His eyes flutter open at the sound of Lydia’s voice and his eyebrows furrow. “Lydia?” 

“Go back to sleep,” she says quietly, smiling a little when he looks up at her. “It’s okay.”

It’s obvious by the confusion on his face that he’s not quite awake yet. “You’re okay?” 

“I’m okay. Everything is okay,” she reassures him as she sits down on the edge of his bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hums in the back of his throat and lets his eyes close again, but only for a few seconds, and he sits up abruptly. “Theo.” 

Lydia actually needs to lean back in order for him to have enough room to sit up like that. She blinks, then shakes her head. “Stiles?”

Stiles reaches out and gently moves the hair away from her neck to peer at the back of it, eyes hazy with fever. “He hurt you.” He trails his fingertips lightly over the faint scar, chest tightening painfully. “I should’ve stopped him.” 

She doesn’t need an explanation to understand what he was dreaming about. So she turns her head so he can look at her neck, then cups his hand in both of hers as she turns to look at him. “I’m okay, Stiles. I’m safe. I’m right here with you.” 

“I never get there in time,” he whispers, meeting her eyes. He swallows heavily, wincing when it feels like razor blades have sliced through his tonsils. “Always too late.” 

“Shh, you’re never too late,” she whispers, reaching out with one of her hand and cupping his face. “You saved my life.”

“Was too late with Peter,” he murmurs. “Too late with the nogitsune. Tracey. Theo. Valack.” He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch instinctively. 

“I survived all those things, Stiles. You saved me from Eichen, from Jennifer, from--” Lydia pauses, watching him closely. Because she doesn’t know what he means about Peter. He couldn’t have known he was in her head. And as far as she knows, he wasn’t with her at the Lacrosse field… but she’ll have to ask when he’s conscious. For now, she gently lets go of him and picks up the ibuprofen and water. “Here, take this.”

A single tear rolls down his cheek and he doesn’t bother wiping it away because he’s pretty sure none of this is real anyway. He lets out a shuddering breath when her hands leave his face and he tries to see what she’s pressed into his hand, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He takes the pill and swallows it down with water, breathing heavily. 

Once he’s done, she takes the water back and sets the glass down. She reaches for his hand again as she watches him worriedly. “Why are you crying?”

Stiles rubs at his cheek, closing his eyes. “None of this is even real.” 

“It’s just the fever,” she whispers quietly, rubbing his hand gently. “Lay back down, okay? You need to sleep it off.”

He reluctantly does as she asks, laying down again, but scooting over on the bed and looking up at her silently and then holding his hand out toward her. She always stays with him in his dreams. 

It _looks_ like an invitation. And considering the way he’s looking at her, it feels like one, too. Lydia isn’t sure what to make of it. She reaches out and takes the offered hand but doesn’t move otherwise. Sure, she has fallen asleep on his shoulder a few time. And him on hers. But this is different.

He tugs gently on her hand, scooting over a little more so his back is against the bedroom wall, making plenty of room for her to join him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” she says quietly, looking at him for a moment before she gets up and pulls the covers. But then she pauses. She’s not even sure he’s really awake. “Are you-- comfortable with this?”

Confusion flickers over his face. “With you? I’m always comfortable with you.” 

She smiles a little at him then slides into bed next to him. If nothing else, she can keep him warmer than the blankets could. And maybe he can get rid of his fever sooner. 

Stiles relaxes as soon as she slides in beside him and he lets his eyes close as his head sinks into the pillows again. Within moments he’s fallen back to sleep.

Lydia turns toward him, watching him as he falls asleep so quickly again. She smiles a little and presses closer to his side, sliding her hand over his and linking their fingers together. It is much warmer and much more comfortable on the bed than it had been on the chair, so maybe, she can rest just a little. 

***

The next time he wakes up, he’s not cold anymore. His face is pressed against something soft but not as soft as a pillow and he mumbles in his sleep, shifting closer to the warmth, arm pulling the source of the warmth closer to him and sighing a little.

She doesn’t just rest a little. She apparently fell asleep hard. When she wakes up, she’s pretty comfortable and warm. That is, until something starts tugging at her. _Someone_ , she realizes as she opens her eyes. And she can’t move much otherwise. 

Stiles’ head is on her shoulder, face pressed against her neck. His arm is wrapped tightly around her stomach and-- he’s snuggling behind her, his leg is wrapped around hers in a way that feels a little more intimate than everything they’ve done before -- well, almost everything. But panic attacks don’t count, right?

She lifts her hand to his arm and shifts slightly so she can try to look back at his face. His skin doesn’t feel as warm anymore, which is a good sign. But she can’t tell how his face looks from this angle. 

Another soft sigh escapes him and he shifts again, breath ghosting over the back of her neck as he lifts his head from the pillow and opens his eyes, blinking blearily as he looks around, gaze landing on…

Lydia. His eyes widen a little in surprise and he gazes at her for a moment, completely still. “Hi.” 

She can’t help the shiver that runs through her at the feel of his very warm breath against her neck. Her face feels very warm instantly, and even more when he actually looks at her and says hi. “Hi,” she answers quietly, holding his gaze as she shifts, turning to lay more on her back both to look more at him and because she doesn’t need that type of reaction to him _breathing_ to happen again.

Stiles is incredibly relieved she moves when she does because if she hadn’t, things would be a lot more awkward. He licks his lips absently, mouth dry from having slept for so long. He can’t seem to take his eyes off her face. “Am I dreaming?” he wonders. 

Her face softens at the question and she shakes her head. “I think you’re awake this time.”

Involuntarily his gaze drops to his hand, counting his fingers in his head, and sure enough, five. He blinks a couple of times, then shakes his head, feeling dazed. “This time?” he asks uncertainly. 

Lydia frowns a little when he counts his fingers, then reaches over to cover his hand with hers. “I think your fever was too high when you-- asked me to lay down here with you,” she adds the last part more quietly, not entirely sure how he’s going to react. She’s also not entirely sure why she’s still laying down there next to him. Yes, she’s comfortable but-- she shouldn’t be this comfortable, should she?

For a moment he just gazes at her, trying to comprehend what she means. Fever. Sick. Right. She’d come over the night before to look after him because he’d been sick. “Oh,” he responds, nodding at that and holding his breath for a second because sure -- they’d fallen asleep together a couple times in the recent past, waiting on news or doing homework -- but it had never been in an actual _bed_ and that felt like it meant more than he knows it does. “Sorry?” he asks uncertainly, because she’s probably not comfortable laying in bed with him but had felt sorry for him because he’d been ill. 

“Oh.” Lydia shakes her head and at his reaction, she does push herself up into a sitting position. She doesn’t leave the bed, though, just turns a little more toward him. “It’s okay. I figured you were cold, I just-- didn’t meant to fall asleep, too.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says quickly, dropping his hands to his side and sitting up, too, sure to keep the blankets up over him. “I just -- meant, sorry if it -- you know, made you uncomfortable or anything. I don’t mind that you fell asleep too.” 

“You didn’t, make me uncomfortable, I mean.” She smiles a little at him, watching him for a moment. “How are you feeling? Looks like the fever is down.” There, better focus on something a little more neutral.

“Better,” he says, nodding, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “My throat’s still scratchy but -- my head doesn’t feel like exploding anymore so that’s definitely an improvement.” He offers her a soft smile. “Thanks, for staying. And taking care of me.” 

“You would do the same for me,” she says quietly, smiling back at him. Without thinking about it, she picks up the cough drop from his bedside table and holds it out to him.

“Yeah, I would,” he agrees without hesitating, reaching out and taking the cough drop from her. He unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. 

Lydia smiles softly at him, watching him for a moment. She hesitates before reaching to pull the covers from herself and start getting out of bed. “Your dad got home, I think it was a couple of hours ago.”

“Is he okay?” He rubs a hand over his face, eyes traveling to the clock on his nightstand. 

“I think so? He came in, but by the time I woke up, he was closing the door,” she explains as she stands up, then turns to face him.

He nods at that, stretching a little and reluctantly rolling out of bed. “I gotta go check on him real quick.” 

“Okay,” she says with a nod as she steps aside to make room for him. She probably should get home, anyway. 

Stiles pauses beside her, gazing at her for a second and then giving in and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. She’d slept in the same bed with him while he was sick. He doubted hugging her was going to be what made her ill if she caught it, too. “Thank you.” 

Lydia stills for a moment, not expecting the hug at all. But it’s just a second or two before she relaxes and wraps her arms around him, too, her face softening as she closes her eyes. “No need to thank me, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

His right hand rests on the back of her head as he closes his eyes, too, exhaling slowly. “Yeah but you brought me soup and medicine and stayed here with me. I’m already feeling better and I probably wouldn’t have even gone to sleep last night if you hadn’t been here and then I’d be miserable for days so...thank you.” 

Her chest tightens at his admission and she pulls him a little closer. “Until you start taking better care of yourself, I’ll force it upon you,” she says quietly. Her voice is light, but she’s completely serious.

He cracks a smile, burying his face in her hair and tightening his hold on her, as well. “Likewise.” 

Lydia grins softly and holds on to him for just a little longer. Just knowing that she has someone willing to do that for her now makes her chest feel warm. Not that she doubted for a second that Stiles would, not since she got to know what an amazing guy he is, anyway.

When the hug finally ends, he pulls back to look at her, soft smile on his face. “Okay, I’m gonna check on my dad. Then I still need to show you what I’ve found about Mr. Douglas.” 

She pauses and cocks her head at him, the hint of a smile on her lips as she rolls her eyes. “You’re so stubborn…”

Stiles beams at that. “Takes one to know one!” he calls as he heads out the bedroom.

She arches her eyebrows, then smirks and shakes her head. He’s not wrong, so, this time, she won’t hold it against him.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles sits in the driver’s seat of his jeep across the street from Mr. Douglas’s house, watching the house intently. He can see the teacher move from the living room toward the back of the house (the kitchen area, he knows). He takes the moment to pick up his cell phone, and send a quick text message to Lydia. 

_Just FYI, stake-outs are definitely the most boring part of the investigative stage._ He doesn’t even realize he’s just sent her a text at 1 in the morning. 

He leans back in his seat, picking up his thermos of coffee and taking a drink, grimacing at the bitter taste. He _hates_ black coffee but it’s all he can drink on stake-outs. 

She’s actually awake when she gets his text. In bed, yes. Almost asleep, definitely, but still somewhat awake. She’d spent the last couple of hours looking for yearbook quotes, for herself and for Allison. So trying to shake off the ‘what would things be like now if she was still here’ thoughts have been keeping her awake for the past half hour. 

Of course, Stiles is happy to supply a much needed distraction. She smiles softly when she sees she has a message from him, but as soon as she reads the actual message, her smile is replaced with a worried frown. 

_What are you doing and where are you?_ And of course, she’s already getting off of the bed because there’s no way she’s going to manage any sleep right now.

He glances at his phone when it beeps almost immediately. He picks it up, glancing at the house again and sighing as the teacher sits down on the sofa, kicking his feet up and resting them on the table as he stares at the TV. Creep. 

Stiles picks the phone up again. _Across the street from Mr. Douglas’s house._

Of course he is. Lydia doesn’t know why she’d expect anything else. He’s been obsessing about the new teacher for days now. At least that’s just a couple of blocks from _her_ house. When he first moved in, her mom gave him rides to the school in the morning. 

She sighs softly and although she knows the answer, she still asks: _Why, Stiles?_

“Does nobody listen to me when I talk?” he grumbles as he stares at her message. _Because he’s evil?_

At this point, she mostly wants him to see what how he sounds. _What is the evilest thing he’s done since you got there?_

Stiles stares at his phone for a long moment in disbelief. He looks to the window and then back at his phone, frowning deeply before finally typing out a response. _Okay, first, I haven’t been watching him every minute since he got here. Second, I have a feeling about him. He’s not who he says he is._

_And you managed to completely disregard my question, good job, Stiles._ Lydia sighs softly and shakes her head as she makes her way downstairs and toward the front door. At least it’s not raining tonight.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, trying to ignore the stab of betrayal he feels at her dismissal. _I was right about Theo and no one else believed me then either._

Lydia sighs at his text but doesn’t bother answering it. She slides her phone into her coat pocket as she makes her way down the street. She only pauses when she hears a rumbling of a thunder out in the distance. But when she turns to look at it, there’s no lightning and not that many clouds in the sky, so she shakes it off even though she quickens the pace, just in case. 

He’s disappointed when she doesn’t reply but he simply sets his phone down in the middle console of the jeep and leans farther back into his seat, turning the police scanner up just a little bit to listen to the calls going through. Just in case his dad needs his help with something tonight, or something out of the norm happens. They’re approaching the full moon, and the time is right for the weirdness to start up. 

Stiles wonders idly what everyone else is doing tonight. Scott’s probably home, passed out in bed. Lydia’s obviously awake, probably studying or reading. Malia’s probably running through the woods in coyote-form before turning in for the night. He doesn’t want to _think_ about what Liam and Hayden are probably doing. He makes a face and shudders. Gross.

Just a moment later, Lydia reaches out for the passenger’s door of the jeep, pulling it open and sliding inside without hesitation. “For the record, I did believe you about Theo. But I’d rather see concrete proof that someone is evil before making up my mind.” 

He jumps when she opens the door and he turns to look at her with wide eyes, heart beating faster in his chest. “Jesus, Lydia. You scared the hell out of me.” 

“Maybe you should be more alert while spying on a supposed evil person?” She smirks as she leans back against her seat.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Or start locking my doors. And the _definitely_ evil person is in his house watching some late night crap TV.” He nods toward the large bay window. 

Lydia glances over at the house and shakes her head a little after she watches the teacher for a moment. “Okay, let’s say he _is_ evil, what do you think he’s supposed to be?”

“No idea. Wouldn’t even try and venture a guess at this point. Too early on in the investigation,” he says honestly. 

Okay, that’s a good sign, with some logic attached to it, which is exactly what Lydia is looking for at this point. “And aside from your gut feeling, what makes you think he _is_ evil?”

“Because this is Beacon Hills and we have a history of teachers turning out evil here,” he says without thinking. 

Lydia pauses at that, arching her eyebrows as she fully turns her body on her seat until she’s facing him. “Really? Because he’s a teacher and he’s in Beacon Hills?”

He starts to respond when he catches sight of the look on her face. Then he hesitates. “Okay, Harris. Definitely evil. Or at the very least, a huge jerk that was definitely caught up in things with Peter _Hale._ And let’s not forget Jennifer Blake, who was about as evil as evil gets.” Short of being a Nogitsune, anyway. 

“Okay, so you have Harris, who _was_ possibly connected to something shady, especially considering his timely disappearance. And Jennifer, who, nearly managed to kill us all. I’ll give you those. But-- what is it that you say about twos? Being a coincidence?” She knows exactly what he says, of course, so she just throws a look at him before she continues. 

“Then you have dozens of _other_ teachers, who also happen to be in Beacon Hills that have not, in fact, _done anything evil_ ,” she says sharply. “Including Mr. Yukimura _and_ my mother, who, by the way, I’m sure isn’t evil aside from insisting people actually get to class in the mornings.” 

“Yeah well I’m not super convinced that you and Scott’s advanced bio teacher isn’t _also_ evil,” he responds. “Also, Gerard Argent -- temporary principal of the school, _and_ Marin Morrell, former school guidance counselor with extremely questionable motives. So maybe it’s school personnel in general and not just limited to teachers.” 

He purses his lips at the mention of Kira’s dad, and her own mom. “Well, your mom did kick me out of your room _twice_ when I was visiting you and okay, she has her reasons to hate me. I’ll give you those two. But I’m right on this. That guy --” He points to the house. “Definitely evil.” 

“My mom doesn’t _hate_ you, okay? It was misplaced concern out of ignorance of all things supernatural,” she points out, then sighs softly as she turns to look at the house. “And I’m not saying he _isn’t_ evil. But you’re affirming that he _is_ without a single concrete evidence to back you up.”

He shifts a little in his seat, sighing at her reassurance that her mom doesn’t hate him. He doesn’t _hate_ her mom, either, but there’s still this tension he feels whenever he thinks about her, and when he thinks about Lydia in general and how she’s spent years of her life basically raising herself. “I have a very strong gut feeling about this guy. I don’t know how to explain, I just...feel it.” 

“And I trust you,” she says sincerely, holding his gaze as she speaks. “I trust your gut feeling, I know you’re usually right about these things, but-- we can’t start a witch hunt on someone without _proof_ ,” she adds, sighing softly. “We can’t do much of anything without evidence.”

“Which is why I’ve been staking out his house for the last three weeks,” he admits, glancing at her sideways. “I know I have to have evidence. I’ve also been doing some digging into his last school assignment.” He reaches into the backseat and pulls out his bag, grabbing out some papers he printed out. “He wasn’t even teaching science at his last school.” 

Lydia looks up at him for a moment longer, then sighs softly as she opens the papers on her lap and starts looking through them. “He might have a record of some kind, he might be hiding something, most people are,” she says quietly as she reads through the things he’s handed her, then pauses and looks at him again. “But that doesn’t mean he’s the kind of evil _we_ should be dealing with either.”

“But we don’t know for sure he isn’t,” he points out, glancing back at the house and resting his head against the headrest. He flinches as a streak of lightning strikes in the distance, followed immediately by a loud rumble of thunder. “So I wait.” 

She frowns when he flinches, she doesn’t see anything, but a moment later, she does hear the thunder. Lydia cocks her head for a moment, then she shakes it off and focuses on Stiles again. “I just don’t want you to obsess about this in a way that is unhealthy for you, Stiles.” 

A crooked smile touches his mouth at that. “I promise to only obsess over it in healthy ways. Look.” He pulls out a baggie of carrot sticks and celery. “I even brought healthy snacks and my coffee is black with no sugar or cream.” 

Lydia arches her eyebrows at that, sincerely surprised that he even has food at all in the jeep and it isn’t something that Liam dropped in the backseat three months ago and is now covered in mold. “Good start. What about the sleeping portion?”

“I napped after school for two hours,” he assures her without missing a beat. 

She’s actually impressed at this point. She doesn’t really even know what to say to it. So she just, purses her lips together and nods for a moment. “Maybe you can stalk earlier in the night and get a full night’s sleep?”

He glances at her to see if she’s serious, barely able to suppress a smile. “Hashtag life goals?” he teases.

Lydia can’t help but grin as she shakes her head and smacks his arm lightly. “Make your goal reality, Stiles. I wanna see you make it to thirty.” 

“I’d like to see that too.” However unlikely he thinks it probably is, given their lives. He winks at her and turns to look out the window at the house, sighing. “There’s just something about this guy that really bugs me.” 

“Okay, we’ll figure it out. Just keep in mind that it might not necessarily _be_ supernatural, Stiles,” she points out.

He nods, pressing his lips together. “I know. I promise I know that. But with our history…” Except in the recent weeks, where literally _nothing_ has happened. But he’s not counting that. Because the fact that it’s been quiet in and of itself is enough to alarm him on subconscious levels.

“I know,” she says quietly, reaching out and squeezing his hand gently for a moment. “I get what you’re trying to do. I just--” she looks down and shrugs a shoulder. “I worry about you.”

His fingers curl around hers easily and he swallows hard at her admission. After a second, he glances over at her and draws in a breath. “What do you say we throw in the towel for the night and go grab something to eat?” 

Her face softens a little as she holds his gaze, a smile appearing on her lips. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Despite the heaviness he feels on his shoulders, the sinking feeling in his stomach as another flash of lightning appears in the distance, he can’t not smile back at her. He’s way too easy when it comes to Lydia Martin. “Ice cream?” 

Lydia cocks her head a little when she hears the noise, but she can’t seem to look away from Stiles. “I haven’t had ice cream in a very long time. So, yes.”

His expression brightens a little at that, and he nods. “Cool.” He squeezes her hand gently and then reluctantly lets go so he can shift the jeep into gear.

When he lets go of her hand, Lydia looks down at it. She presses her fingers together, her stomach clenching at the sudden _loss_ she feels. She looks up at him and takes a deep breath as she shifts on her seat, then keeps herself busy by tugging on the seatbelt. It must be because she was thinking about Allison earlier. But she suddenly wants to spend more time with Stiles, stop taking things for granted so much.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s nearly two in the morning and he knows he shouldn’t be letting himself into the Martin’s house, knows he shouldn’t be bothering Lydia with this, but his anxiety level is at an all-time high and this one’s a little out of his realm of experience anyway. Okay, a lot out of his realm of experience. The storm outside has already picked up from where it was just twenty minutes ago and his heart is beating super fast as he navigates through the house until he reaches her room. 

It’s weird, really, how routine it’s become for him to sneak into her house the way he’d always sneaked into Scott’s at all hours of the day and night. 

He shakes off that thought and hesitantly knocks on her door, listening just in case she’s already awake. When he hears no sound, he lets himself in and moves to sit down on the edge of her bed. “Lydia,” he whispers.

Tonight is one of those nights where Lydia isn’t a light sleeper. She’s shifting on the bed, the noises she’s hearing are loud and her eyes are moving rapidly beneath her eyelids. She hears her name being called but in her dream, she looks around and sees no one there. They’re gone. They’re _all_ gone. She runs and screams their names, but nothing comes out. No one can hear her, no one can see her because there’s no one _there_.

It becomes obvious to him fairly quickly that she’s dreaming, and by the faint whimper that escapes her, he can tell it isn’t a good dream. He shifts, reaching down and cupping her cheek in one hand. “Lydia? Hey. Hey, you’re just dreaming,” he tells her gently, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay.” He wonders what she’s dreaming about. Peter? Jackson? Allison? She’s lived through so much trauma, he can’t even venture a guess. 

“Stiles,” she mutters in her dream. When he touches her face, she seems to calm down. For a second, anyway. Because just another moment and she gasps, her eyes opening wide as she looks up at him, her heart racing.

His eyes widen when she mutters his name and then her eyes fly open as she gasps. “Whoa, hey.” His chest tightens at the fact that she was having a nightmare about _him_. He backs away from her a little, giving her space. “It’s okay.” He holds his hands up as if in surrender.

Lydia’s not entirely sure she’s awake. She doesn’t know what’s happening, or why she’s suddenly seeing Stiles in front of her. She doesn’t even _stop_ to process any information. As soon as he pulls away, she sits up and reaches out, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Because he’s _there_. Someone is there. 

His eyebrows furrow when she hugs him, but he hugs her back instantly, stroking her hair. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” The anxiety in his gut kicks up a notch and he has to take a deep breath. He rubs his other hand gently over her back, trying to soothe her as she shakes in his arms. “Bad dream?” 

She takes a deep, shaky breath and nods as she holds on to him. She closes her eyes again and lays her forehead against his shoulder. It takes her a long moment to realize how warm he feels, how _real_ he seems… with a slight frown, she lifts her head slowly. “You’re here?”

If she wasn’t so obviously shaken from whatever she’d been dreaming about, he’d have given her a smart ass response to that. Instead he meets her eyes, nodding and looking a little sheepish. “Yeah. I sorta used the key.” 

“Oh.” She just nods in response. After a moment, she glances at the clock next to her bed. It’s three thirty in the morning. She can hear the wind and the storm starting outside. After a glance at the window, she looks at him again. “Why?”

Stiles hesitates now, mostly because he feels kind of foolish running over to her house without even doing any research first. “A call came in over the wire a little while ago.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “A guy said he saw really bright lights in the woods a few days ago and that he was just...returned.” 

Lydia frowns at him a little, then shakes her head in confusion . She was in the woods for a couple of days once, too. 

He draws in a breath and lets it out, then rises to his feet. “He’s claiming he was abducted.” 

“Abducted?” she echoes, shaking her head, “But-- whom?”

“Uh, what, actually,” he corrects her, chewing his lip for a moment. “He says he was abducted...by aliens.” 

“Aliens…” Lydia sighs softly and looks at him for a moment.

“I know,” he admits. “I know it sounds crazy.” He sighs, too and looks back at her. “But is it really that crazy as a possibility? I mean, after everything we’ve seen.” 

“While I'm sure they're out there somewhere, even if they are here, they aren't supernatural,” she points out as she sits up on the bed some more. “Which makes them completely out of our scope.” 

He sits down on the edge of the bed. “Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, in theory they could be classified as supernatural even if it leans more sci-fi than anything if we’re talking genre.” He cocks his head. “Possibly horror. Depending on what they did to the guy if he was actually abducted.” 

Lydia sighs softly as she watches him for a moment in silence. He’s reaching even more than usual. “Stiles, when was the last time you slept?”  
He knows he needs to stop doing this. On some level, he knows he’s probably driving her crazy. Scott, too, considering their last conversation. He chews his thumbnail, shrugging. “I have an exceptionally good metabolism?” he tries.

“Sure.” Lydia gives him a look, then shifts on her bed as she slides away from him. She’s not annoyed so much as worried about him. And although she can’t remember her dream very well, she still feels shaken from it and something is telling her to keep Stiles safe. “You need to rest. I’m not going out with this storm, anyway. If _tomorrow_ you still feel the same about this, we’ll look into it.”

He sighs at that, nodding as his shoulders slump a little. “Yeah, okay.” He’d apologize for waking her up, but he knows at the very least, he helped her wake up from a nightmare so in that way he doesn’t feel very guilty. He gives her a small, sheepish smile and rises to his feet, planning the rest of his night: going down to the station and harassing his dad to give him details on this guy and seeing if the guy has any kind of background. Maybe he’s a criminal, maybe he’s a drug addict or an alcoholic, or maybe he’s just mentally ill. He knows all of the above will have to be ruled out before anyone will consider the real possibility of alien abduction. He’ll do all the groundwork ahead of time. That’s the part he’s best at anyway: the research.

He heads toward the door, raking a hand through his hair. “See you at school?” 

“Stiles?” She frowns as she sits up more. Because this isn’t what she meant at all.

Stiles glances over his shoulder at her, arching his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

“Where are you going?” Just as she asks, there’s a loud thunder nearby and she glances at the window. She can swear it made the whole house shake.

He flinches, a cold chill racing down his spine. He forces himself to take a deep breath. “Home?” he says uncertainly. 

Lydia takes a deep breath and shakes her head as she gets up, staring at him for a moment. “I don’t think you should leave right now.”

“Is that -- like a banshee feeling?” he asks, swallowing hard and trying to push away the way his stomach tightens into a knot.

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. Once she shakes off some of the dreadness she’s feeling, she stands up straighter and adds: “But it’s pouring, I don’t think it’s a good idea on common sense either.” 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, glancing momentarily toward her window and listening to the sound of the rain pouring down. He doesn’t really want to go back out in the storm, anyway. “Maybe I could just -- hang out on your couch til it slows down?” 

“You can stay here with me.” Before she can stop herself, the words are out of her mouth. It makes the knot on her stomach tighter, but she means it nonetheless. She doesn’t want to think about what her mother would think if she found Stiles downstairs, at least in here, Lydia is fairly sure she won’t come in. But this is about a lot more than her mom. It’s about her making sure he’s safe. He’s resting. He’s _there_. 

His eyes widen a little at that, but he can see she’s serious, and he tries not to read anything into it. She’s worried about him because there’s a storm and she wants to make sure he’s safe. They’re friends. Best friends, even. He’d do the same if the situations were reversed. He nods slowly, holding her gaze. “Uh yeah. Yeah, okay. If you have an extra blanket or something, I can just -- take the chair. It’s pretty comfy.” 

“I don’t mind sharing with you, Stiles.” Her bed is a lot bigger than his, and they were pretty comfortable when she spent the night at his house. _She_ was comfortable. He was passed out sick. “Unless you’re not comfortable with that.”

His heart skips a beat at that. It isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed, but it would be the first time they’d shared a bed _intentionally_ and for some reason that made a difference. “No, that’s fine. I mean, if you’re sure.” 

And her heart skips a beat, too. But she smiles a little at his agreement. “Do you need anything? I don’t think I have anything that’d fit you, but…” 

“Nah. Won’t be the first time I’ve slept in jeans and flannel,” he tells her with a small smile in return. He’s passed out at the McCall’s house enough times in the middle of video game nights and movie nights, and hell...even when just researching. One of the only positive things about having a parent get ill and spend lots of time at the hospital while the other parent is working is that you learn how to sleep anywhere, in any position, wearing anything, and make it work. 

“Okay.” She smiles back at him a little more, then makes her way around the bed. This feels a little awkward, sure, but she still feels better about this than she would about letting him go out there. Especially now. 

He watches her for a moment, then slowly makes his way over to the nearest edge of the bed, sitting down on it and sliding his shoes off. “Hell of a storm,” he murmurs, jumping when another crack of thunder rattles the walls. 

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly, watching him for a moment, before adjusting the pillows so he can have one. “I’m glad it missed you on your way in.” 

“Me too.” He tries to pinpoint why he has such a feeling of dread and can’t seem to shake it, but to no avail. He stretches out on her bed, laying on his side, unable to convince himself not to gaze at her. 

Lydia watches him as he slides into bed, then lays down on her side as well, turning to face him. Considering how worked up he was just a moment ago, she doesn’t think he’s going to fall asleep anytime soon. “Are you okay?” 

He chews the inside of his cheek for a few moments before responding. “I just -- can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming. Something bad.” He tucks a hand under the pillow. “I know it’s stupid because I don’t even have powers, but…” He shakes his head. 

“It’s not stupid,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “But-- maybe part of it is because things have been quiet for a while now. It’s making you anxious.” 

Well, she definitely isn’t wrong. He feels so on edge it’s like he drank a dozen shots of espresso and chased it with three Adderall. None of which he did. “Yeah, maybe.” 

With a deep breath, Lydia reaches out and takes his hand in hers. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Know any tricks to shut somebody’s brain down?” he jokes. 

The answer that comes to mind is _very_ far from appropriate. Especially when they’re both lying in bed together like this. So Lydia swallows her words and shakes her head. “Unless you think you might be able to meditate, not really.”

A short chuckle escapes him. “I definitely don’t have the kind of attention span and focus needed for meditation,” he responds, smile quirking his lips. 

“I never really managed to before, but…” she shrugs a little. “Meredith helped me when I was at Eichen. Being in a state of supernatural comatose was actually good for something.”

He feels his chest tighten at that and he holds his breath for a moment, trying to maintain his smile even he doesn’t agree. “Yeah, well don’t do it again anyway, okay? We can figure out supernatural banshee training in other ways.” 

It doesn’t matter that he’s trying to keep a smile on his face. She sees right through it. Her face falls a little and she squeezes his hand gently. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

He lets his smile slip since there’s no point now anyway. He tightens his fingers around hers a little. “If I never have to see you that close to death again, that’d be great,” he tells her. “Not that you really have control over that. Just saying.” 

“The same goes to you, you know?” She purses her lips together, holding his gaze as she remembers all the times she’s seen Stiles hurt. All the times she _felt_ his death. When he almost jumped into the fire to save Scott at that motel. When she found him unconscious in that parking lot. When he passed out at the school after the Nogitsune. When they were tied up at Eichen… Her stomach hurts just to think about it. “That’s why I can’t stand the idea of you going out to the preserve by yourself. Or investigating any of these things on your own. Or-- not taking care of your health like you should, Stiles.” 

The irony here, he thinks, is that none of the times he’s almost died have been related to him going to the preserve or not taking care of himself. He hadn’t had any control over any of the times he’s almost ended up dead, either. But he gets her point. He presses his lips together. “I haven’t been going to the preserve since before I got sick,” he assures her, considering for a moment. “And the sleeping thing has...pretty much been an issue since I was a kid, you know?” 

“I’m glad you haven’t been going anymore,” she says quietly, smiling softly at him. “But you know, just because it was an issue when you were a kid, it doesn’t mean you can’t get better now…” and she knows the supernatural doesn’t help his anxiety but, she doesn’t want Stiles to overwork himself so much like this. It’s not good for him.

“Lydia, I swear to god if you tell me you’ve found a way to cure insomnia, I’ll kiss you.” He grins at her.

Her eyes widen and she stills at his words. Obviously it’s a joke, but it makes something in her stomach flutter. It takes her a second before she manages to speak. “I don’t know about insomnia, but there are ways to improve your anxiety so you can actually sleep better.”

“Yeah, well, short of one of Melissa’s shots, I’ll try just about anything once,” he informs her with a faint, lopsided grin.

“We’ll have to figure out something, I’ll help,” she says softly, but she’s already planning on doing some research on her off periods in the morning.

He squeezes her hand a little, nodding. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He winks at her. 

She squeezes his hand back and smiles softly. “We’ll make sure of that.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, guys! This actually takes place after the Wild Hunt and after they get Stiles back, so obviously, we went pretty AU here. :) 
> 
> And just as a reminder, we wrote this before 602 aired, so if there are things that don't make much sense after the last two episodes, our bad! We did our best to predict things. Although, mostly, we just wrote the reunion we're hoping for...
> 
> Hope you like it! :D

Lydia has been working herself up to come by all day. In fact, she spent the previous day much in the same way, but when she did make it to his house, the Sheriff told him he had fallen asleep a couple of hours earlier. And while she did make it to his room to check on him and make sure he really _was_ there, she figured it was better to let him rest. 

Today, however, he seems to be. The Sheriff’s car is gone but the Jeep is there and the lights are on. As she approaches the house, she can tell the TV is on in the living room. With a deep breath, she reaches over and knocks, her heart beating fast against her chest.

Stiles draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, rubbing a hand over his face when he hears a knock. He doesn’t feel like getting up, like moving from the couch now that his dad’s left for work. He doesn’t feel doing much of anything. He stares at the television for a moment longer, then reluctantly shoves himself off the sofa and heads for the door, not bothering to try and rake a hand through his hair to fix how messed up it definitely looks from sleeping most of the day. He reaches out and opens the door, not having to bother with the locks (because at this point, it’s not like locks do any good anyway. If something or someone wants to get to him bad enough, they’re going to, locks be damned so _why bother?_ ) pausing when his gaze falls on Lydia. 

He holds his breath for a second and then manages a small smile. Now he sort of wishes he’d bothered fixing his hair. “Hey. What’s up?” 

By the time he actually gets to the door, she’s already on the verge of freaking out. But when she sees him, her heart skips a beat and she manages to take a deep breath and smile at him. Lydia doesn’t notice his messy hair at all. After the last three weeks of living in a world without him, she’s just extremely relieved to see him there. 

“Hi,” she says quietly, her eyes getting a little misty, mostly from the relief. “I-- wanted to come by and see you.” 

His chest tightens and he nods, holding the door open for her. “Come in,” he tells her, raking a hand through his hair now. He shuts the door and lifts a hand to his mouth, chewing off the last bit of his ragged thumbnail. All his nails have now been bitten down to the quick, which is apparently what happens when you get dragged to the literal underworld for weeks. 

Even as she steps further into the house, Lydia keeps her eyes on him. It’s hard to look away. Part of her still feels like he’s going to vanish right in front of her eyes again. And that thought her makes her more anxious to tell him everything she wants to tell him. To make sure he _knows_ before it’s too late again. But-- he looks overwhelmed and nervous enough as it is, she needs to be careful with him. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah. Was just marathoning all the TV I missed,” he tells her with a faint smile, motioning at the TV, the most recent episode of The Walking Dead paused on the screen. “Thought I’d have more to catch up on actually. I’m almost done with all of them.” Then again he’s cut back on his TV the last couple years due to severe lack of time.

Lydia glances at the TV and makes a face at the disfigured zombie on TV, but she turns to look back at Stiles quickly. “I came by last night but, you were out. I guess you must have been exhausted.”

“You did?” He’s surprised his dad hadn’t mentioned anything about it, but shakes his head a little. “Yeah, I guess I was. I slept til nearly two this afternoon.” His dad hadn’t wanted to go to work, but Stiles had told him not to worry about it. That he’d be fine. He would. He will. He _is_. He takes a deep breath. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” she answers quietly, her chest tightening as she does. She is, she feels _so much_ better now that he’s here. Even if she’s nervous for other reasons, nothing matters as much as him being okay does. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he says instantly, automatically. He reaches out and gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze -- or what he hopes is a gesture of assurance. He’s pretty sure he’s never going to have another peaceful night’s sleep for as long as he lives, but. There are worse things, right? And it’s not like he did that great with it before so it doesn’t even matter that much. “You want something to drink? Water or…” He pauses, tilting his head. “You know, I don’t even know what’s in the fridge right now.” 

Lydia shakes her head at the offer. “I’m okay, thank you,” she says quietly even as something about his expression makes something in her stomach tighten with a fear that is similar as to what she’d been feeling before they got him back. Not as strong, but still, a fraction of it. “Stiles, are you sure you’re okay?”

He pauses at that, then nods. “Yep. All good here. No longer in the Underworld, so can’t complain,” he jokes. 

She cocks her head at that and keeps her eyes on him.

His stomach twists as she stares at him silently and he winces. “Don’t...do that,” he tells her, reluctantly moving away from her. He lets out a breath as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Talk to me, Stiles,” she says as she drops her purse on the couch, the follows him into the kitchen. 

He rubs a hand over his face tiredly and pulls open the fridge, peering inside but not really taking note of the contents, but definitely making plans to do that later so he can make out a grocery list and go shopping. He hopes his dad didn’t eat a lot of junk when he was gone. He hopes his mom --  
He cuts that thought off immediately, shutting the door to the fridge and moving to the cabinet to grab a glass. “There’s not a lot to say,” he tells her, trying to be as nonchalant as he can. 

His words actually hurt. They make her chest feel so tight, her eyes actually do tear up at this point. “You want me to go, I’ll go, Stiles. But don’t lie to me.” Not with everything she saw of that place while he was there. Not with everything she heard and felt.

“I never said I wanted you to go,” he says, defensiveness creeping into his voice. He turns to look at her and when he sees the tears he feels like she slapped him across the face. He moves over to her and wordlessly wraps her in his arms, closing his eyes tightly. 

She’s hurting, yes. But the second he wraps his arms around her, she hugs him tightly, closing her eyes as tears stream down her face. “I heard you,” she whispers quietly, her voice breaking. “I _felt_ you. I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner.” 

“Stop,” he murmurs, resting a hand on the back of her head. “This isn’t your fault, Lydia. Okay? You’re the reason I’m here at all.” 

If she had figured things out sooner instead of doubting him. If she had focused on the storm sounds she’d been hearing. If she had understood her dream about losing him, they’d have had more time. But he doesn’t want to hear those things, so she just tightens her arms around him, wrapping her fingers around his shirt as she takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself down for his sake.

After a moment, she takes a deep breath, but doesn’t loosen her hold on him. “But you’re not okay.”

Stiles doesn’t loosen his hold on her either. He tenses a little at her words, though. Then he exhales. “I guess I’m just still trying to adjust to -- being back in the real world again, you know? Three weeks here feels like...a lot longer there.” 

“What did it feel like for you?” she whispers as she reluctantly pulls back just enough so she can look at him, her hands falling to his sides.

He’s silent for a long moment. “At first it was mostly confusing. There were a lot of people there, and a lot of them had been there for a long time. Years. Maybe longer.” He licks his lips, struggling to word it all in a way that won’t make her feel worse. “The ones who’d been there for that long had no hope left. They just -- sat. Day after day, they just...sat. Expressionless.” 

“I saw some of them,” she whispers quietly, searching his eyes. “Flashes. One second they were next to me, the next, they were gone.” 

Stiles nods, reluctantly letting his hands drop to her arms. He’s not entirely surprised by her admission. “Did you uh -- did you see me, too?” 

“I heard you. None of the others could talk, but I heard your voice.” Lydia keeps her eyes on his as she speaks. “And sometimes it felt like you were _right here_ with me. Like--” her chest tightens and she reaches out to take his hand in hers, holding her breath when she is actually able to wrap her fingers around his hand. “Like if I reached out, I’d be able to touch you, but--” she just shakes her head as she stares down at their hands.

He looks down at their hands, too, curling his fingers around hers. “I saw you,” he says after a long moment. 

Lydia blinks a couple of times as she lifts her head to look at him. “You did?”

He gives a short nod. “Not all the time.” His voice is quiet. “There was this -- “ He draws in another deep breath. “This window and when you looked through it you could sometimes see stuff going on back home. Sometimes I saw you, sometimes Scott.” His voice drops. “Sometimes my dad.” 

She lifts her free hand and cups his cheek, holding his gaze once again. “It must have been hard on you.” 

“I think that was the point. To remind everyone that no one remembered them.” He tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage it. “I just got lucky because my friends are more awesome than most people.” 

Lydia’s face softens at that and she shakes her head slightly. “We were lost without you.” She was more than lost. She felt like a part of her was missing. But maybe he isn’t ready to hear that just yet.

He reaches up and tucks some hair behind her ear, and then hesitantly presses a kiss against her forehead. Somehow he doesn’t think she’ll mind this time. “I missed you, too, Lyds. So much.” 

She doesn’t mind it. She didn’t mind it when he kissed her cheek that one time that feels like _months_ ago now. In fact, she leans into his touch and closes her eyes for a moment. Even as her heart starts beating faster and without realizing, she says “Stiles.” very quietly.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes, too. Tears prickle behind his eyelids, so he keeps them shut. For the several days he’d been completely assured that they would find him. That they would remember. That she would. But between Peter and the others and seeing his mom with his dad, he’d slowly started to give up. He’d been so close to entirely giving up when they’d found him. He hadn’t thought, by the end, that he’d ever see her again. 

Lydia takes a deep, shaky breath. Then she pulls away slightly and looks up at him. She needs to know, she needs to ask him now before she loses her nerve. Because ever since that night, when she woke up with his voice whispering _remember I love you_ to her in her dream, she hasn’t been able to get the words out of her head. 

“Before they took you,” she whispers quietly, her eyes tearing up again as she sees a tear rolling down his cheek. She reaches out and gently brushes it away with her thumb. “When we were in the jeep… you said things…” but her mouth suddenly feels very dry. She pauses and takes a deep breath as she tries to get the words out.

He remembers. It was one of the few things he _didn’t_ regret the entire time he’d been in the Underworld. He hadn’t gotten to say the things to Scott that he’d wanted to say. Hadn’t gotten to tell his dad goodbye, or that he loved him. But at least he’d gotten to say the words to Lydia. He opens his eyes to look at her, gaze not wavering. “I know. I meant them,” he says quietly. 

Sure, he could take it back, pretend it had just been panic in the moments before he was taken, but truthfully his mind had never been so clear. And he truly believes that at this point in their friendship, it can withstand his honesty. It’s withstood a hell of a lot more in the past. He lifts his thumb to gently wipe a tear from her cheek this time. 

As soon as he opens her eyes and she can look into them. As soon as he tells her he meant what he said, she feels her heart skip a beat. And then it starts beating so fast, she feels like it might burst. Once again, she leans into his touch as she brushes her thumb against his cheek again, mirroring his actions. 

“I love you,” she whispers quietly, but her voice doesn’t break. And if it feels terrifying for a moment, it also feels like an incredible blessing that she gets to tell him, face to face, after everything.

His breath catches and for a moment he thinks he imagined what she just said, but he can see it in her eyes, on her face, that she did. More than that, he can see that she means it. He catches her hand on his cheek with his own, holding her gaze a moment longer before turning his head and pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand, closing his eyes and holding it there against his lips. 

She watches him for a moment, tears blurring her vision as he kisses her palm. Part of her wants to apologize to him. Because it took her _so_ long to admit to herself how she felt about him. Even if she knows it’s been a long time since she’s felt about him this way. Maybe not with this intensity, but it’s been growing the more time she spends with him. 

And this time she doesn’t allow herself to second guess anything. To feel insecure. To think about possibly making things awkward between them. She leans closer and presses her lips gently to the corner of his mouth, brushing her nose against his cheek as she does. 

It only takes him a second to respond, to let go of her hand and let it slide into her hair, instead, turning his head and pressing his lips against hers in a soft kiss, brushing his nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss. 

She wraps her now free hand behind his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair as she steps closer to him. Brushing her nose to his before leaning in and pressing another soft kiss to his lips. Feeling his soft, warm lips against her own. There. Real. Alive. 

Stiles is pretty sure his younger self would have fainted by now and he almost smiles at the fleeting thought before he pulls her closer with his free arm and putting a little more pressure behind the kiss. Just a little, not wanting to be too pushy about it. 

It’s just the encouragement she needs as she parts her lips under his as soon as he presses closer. In the back of her head, she remembers the locker room. Kissing his panic attack away and being completely overwhelmed by how this _boy_ that she had grown to care about, without even meaning to, made her feel so many things that she had never felt before. She knows now that this is when it begun for her. Even if she didn’t realize it back then. She’s wanted this all this time. She’s loved him all this time.

He returns the kiss without questioning it, slowly exploring this new development between them with his lips and his fingers as they trail through her hair, enjoying the feel of the silky strands between his fingers. He remembers the last kiss they shared. He’d been completely caught off guard by it, and it had shaken him to his core. There hadn’t been time to really enjoy it -- not that it hadn’t been enjoyable. It had, but it had been overshadowed by the shock, by the whirlwind of emotions that had suddenly grown still and silent when she’d kissed him. Everything about this kiss feels different. Feels like a confirmation to what he’s tried hard to ignore for the last two years as they’d become actual friends and he’d started seeing her as a person and not an unattainable dream. 

After a moment, he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against hers once more, chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathes. “I love you, too,” he whispers, realizing he hadn’t immediately said it back when she’d told him.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he pulls away, opening her eyes to look at him just in time to watch him as he whispers the words back to her. Again. A smile appears on her lips as her eyes tear up once more. She doesn’t want to cry because she doesn’t want to worry him, but this is different. These tears are relief and happiness for everything that she thought she might never get to have in the past few weeks. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Despite the rest -- the guilt, the uncertainty, the worry and the dread that still lingers in his chest -- looking at Lydia right then makes it all settle into the background, a dull buzzing that he can barely hear at all over her voice. “You saved my life again,” he tells her quietly. 

Her chest tightens at the words and she shakes her head slightly. “After everything we’ve been through. After all the times you believed in me. After all you helped me become, if it wasn’t for _you_ , I would never have been able to help you, Stiles.”

He’s not quite sure how to respond to that, except he definitely feels like she’s giving him way too much credit. “You underestimate yourself. You always do.” He smiles faintly, meeting her eyes. “You’re amazing, Lydia. I’ve just always known it.” 

“I think you’re amazing, too,” she whispers quietly, smiling back at him as she cups his cheek. 

Stiles leans into her touch for a moment and then pulls back to look at her again, eyes widening a little. “Prom,” he says suddenly. 

Lydia blinks a couple of time in confusion, dropping her hand from his face to his arm and cocking her head. “What about prom?” 

“Um, yeah that -- just sorta -- I mean.” He swallows hard as he trips over his words. The last time he hadn’t even had to ask. Allison had blackmailed Lydia into going with him because she’d felt sorry for him and Lydia had owed Allison one for kissing Scott. “Lydia, do you wanna go to prom with me?” 

Her face brightens as she nods a little. Her stomach feeling tight as she remembers him telling her he’s the first girl he’s ever danced with. “I’d love to go to prom with you, Stiles.” 

He smiles at her response. “Cool.” He reaches down and takes her hand again, linking their fingers together. 

“Why don’t we sit down? I have a lot to update you on,” she says with a soft smile. “Although, the most important part you’re already aware of,” she adds as she leans in and presses a quick kiss to his lips. Just in case he’s not sure what she means. Also, just because she can.

“I could always be more aware,” he says quickly after she’s kissed him again. “Anytime.” 

“You could?” she cocks her head a little, her smile turning into a smirk as she brushes her nose to his. “Me too, you know?”

His eyes widen a little and he nods. “Uh huh. Yeah. Really?” He rests his hands on her waist. 

Yeah, telling him that the new teacher _was_ , in fact, evil is going to have to wait. Instead, Lydia leans in and cups the back of his neck. Without hesitation this time, she tiptoes and kisses him deeply as she presses closer to him again once more. Partially because she likes that wide eyed, awed look on his face. Partially because she really wants him closer.

His eyes drift shut and he wonders momentarily if he’s fallen asleep again and he’s dreaming. If he is, he doesn’t really want to wake up, so he doesn’t bother counting his fingers. Instead he turns them so that he can walk her up against the kitchen counter, careful to place his hand at the small of her back so it doesn’t hurt her. 

She’s a little surprised by how quickly he moves her. But not by how easily. She has noticed a long time ago how in sync she and Stiles are. As soon as she presses back against the counter, she instinctively wraps a leg around him. And she’s grateful for the heels, otherwise, she’d never be able to comfortably kiss him like this.

He groans involuntarily when she winds her leg around his waist and he breaks the kiss to press a kiss against the side of her neck. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to her skin, this time against her collarbone. 

Lydia shivers the second his lips touch her neck. Without thinking twice, she reaches for his overshirt and pushes it off of him. Just as she tilts her head back, however, she opens her eyes just a little and sees the front door. Directly to her right. With a deep breath, she lifts her head and opens her eyes more. “Stiles, let’s go upstairs,” she says as she reaches for his shoulders.

Breathing heavily and feeling dazed, he nods, leaning down and picking up his flannel shirt so as not to leave behind any evidence before he reaches up for her hand and leads her toward the stairs. 

She links her fingers with his and follows him upstairs, taking a deep breath once they make it to the top of the stairs and down the hall, into his room. As soon as they make it inside, however, she stops and tugs on his hand. 

Stiles holds his breath before slowly shutting his bedroom door behind them and turning to face her again, eyes dark. He exhales slowly, studying her like he’s afraid she’s going to be gone if he looks away again. He takes a couple of steps and closes the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her again silently. 

Lydia kisses him back as soon as he leans close to her. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him as close to her as she can even as she guides him backwards with her body. Slowly to make sure she doesn’t hurt him.

It feels like every place they’re connected is crackling with energy and he wonders, momentarily, about the likelihood of spontaneous combustion and quickly dismisses it because right now he doesn’t even care. He feels his knees hit the back of the bed and steadies his hold on her, slowly sinking down onto the mattress and pressing a kiss to her throat. “Wait,” he whispers, looking up at her. 

Once again, she shivers when he kisses her skin. And she’s just about to climb on his lap when he tells her to wait. She stills, blinking her eyes open as she stands directly in front of him. With a deep breath, she looks down, worry immediately appearing on her face. “You okay?”

Stiles nods immediately, holding her gaze. “Yeah. I just -- I don’t want to rush this,” he admits, voice hushed. “Not with you.” 

Her face softens at his words, worry replaced with a smile as she takes another deep breath. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Stiles.” It’s just always been-- normal for her. To rush into things. Do what she felt like was expected of the image she put on for others. But that’s not what this is about right now. This is about being comfortable with him, being close to him. Being _with_ him.

He kisses the palm of her hand again, keeping his eyes on her. “I’m comfortable. Like, really _really_ comfortable.” He leans in and kisses her chin softly. “I just want to make sure you know that it’s not about this for me. Like...at all.” He pauses. “I mean, it definitely is, but not _just_ this. I want the whole thing, Lydia. Dates and dances and making out in the movie theaters and holding hands and...the whole thing.” 

She’s already lost count how many times he’s made her tear up tonight already. Every time he does, though, it’s because she’s happier than the time before. Lydia doesn’t say anything, just smiles at him as she reaches to take off her boots, then she shifts closer to the bed until she’s sitting on his lap, straddling it. Still, she’s not pressing too close to him. She just wants to be close _enough_ to him. “I want all that, too, Stiles. You’re one of my best friends. I want _this_ and the dates and the kissing to be an addition to all that we already have. You mean _so_ much to me. This means so much to me, I want us both to find out how it all works together.”

He lets out a shuddering breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding and nods slowly. “Me too,” he whispers, gently stroking a hand down her back. 

Lydia presses a soft kiss to his lips as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Do you wanna lay down?”

“Yes,” he whispers, using his free arm to support his weight and hers and slide them back farther onto the bed before he lays down, pulling her with him as he gazes up at her. 

She looks down at him and smiles softly, then she adjusts on the bed until she’s lying mostly by his side, pressed close to him. “Is this okay?” she asks, mostly to check. Because she won’t assume with him and screw things up.

“Definitely okay.” He lifts his hand to her face, gazing at her intently and leaning in to kiss her softly once more. He can practically hear Peter in the back of his head, mocking him. “Lydia?” 

“Hmm?” she asks quietly as she wraps an arm over his chest and lays her face over his shoulder, pressing her nose against his jaw for a moment before looking up.

“Can you say it again?” he whispers. 

Her chest feels tight immediately. She pushes herself up once again so she can look him in the eye and reaches over, brushing her fingers over his hair gently. “I love you, Stiles.” This time, her voice is firmer than before. “I have for-- a lot longer than I realized.” 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks,” he murmurs, hesitating a moment and then resting his forehead against her collarbone, letting his eyes close. 

Lydia hugs him closer as she presses her lips to his forehead before laying her head on his pillow. “Rest.” 

Stiles nods against her silently, breathing in and out slowly until their breathing falls into sync. He falls asleep within moments. 

***

When Lydia wakes up the next morning, she’s fairly sure she’s still dreaming. Stiles’ arm is wrapped tightly around her, his warm body is pressed against her back and her fingers are curled around his. She knows it’s him even without opening her eyes. After so long of _feeling_ and hearing him without being able to see him, it became easy to tell. 

But a moment later, she does open her eyes and looks down at their hands. Her grip instinctively tightens around his as she pulls their hands up to her lips and kisses the back of his hand softly.

He mumbles something inaudibly against the back of her neck and cracks one eye open for a second, relaxing when he realizes what woke him up. Without really thinking about it, he presses a kiss to the back of her neck. “Hi,” he whispers.

Lydia shivers slightly and closes her eyes again, smiling against his hand as she hugs his arm a little more to her chest. “Morning.”  
He smiles when she shivers and he kisses her neck again. And then once more, pushing himself up on his left elbow so he can look down at her, sleepy smile on his face. “Morning.” 

She turns toward him when he shifts, suddenly feeling butterflies in her stomach. The look on his face is adorable and she’s not sure she’s _ever_ seen Stiles looking this relaxed before. “How did you sleep?” 

“Good,” he admits, rubbing his thumb lightly over her navel. “Really good.” He searches her face. “You?” 

“I did too,” she whispers, shivering slightly at his touch. Lydia cocks her head a little and lifts a hand to brush at his hair gently.

Stiles grins when she shivers again and he takes a deep breath because somehow he never thought that in _reality_ a touch from him would elicit that sort of response from _her._ His voice is soft when he speaks again. “You...look so beautiful right now. You know that?” 

Her face softens and she smiles a little more up at him. But it’s a shy smile. Because she doesn’t really know how to react to the way Stiles compliments her. So open. So honest. She doesn’t say anything, just lifts her head and presses her lips lightly to his.

His eyes drift shut as he returns the kiss, shifting slightly to pull her closer to him, resting a hand on the back of her head. 

Lydia relaxes when he kisses her back. Feeling more awake now as she shifts in his arms until she’s facing him completely, then she wraps her arm around him and pulls him closer too.

After a few moments of rather intense kissing, he breaks away in order to breathe, feeling a little light-headed as he gazes at her again. “Wow,” he murmurs. 

She blinks her eyes open, takes a deep breath and smiles at him again. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m definitely okay,” he assures her, resting a hand at her hip and squeezing gently. 

She brushes her fingers down his back as she looks up at him. When she realizes his shirt has ridden up, she slides her hand into his shirt, keeping her eyes on him as she smiles. “Good.” 

It’s his turn to shiver at the feel of her hands on his bare skin, breath catching. “Very good,” he agrees, nodding and leaning in and placing a kiss against her jaw. 

Lydia closes her eyes again as she lifts her head a little, unconsciously pulling him closer. As close as she can.

He presses his lips against her neck, hesitating a little and then sliding his hand up the side of her shirt, letting his fingers rest lightly against her ribcage. “Is this okay?” he murmurs. 

“Definitely,” she murmurs, unconsciously lifting her leg and sliding it over his. But stops herself before she wraps it around his legs completely and pulls his hips closer. She _wants_ to. But she also wants to make sure he’s comfortable so for now, she’s letting him set the pace.

A soft groan escapes him and he shifts closer to her, nibbling his way up to her ear. “Lyds?” 

Between the nibbling and the shifting closer, she can’t stop herself from locking her leg around his and pressing her hips against his. When he says her name, however, she stills. With a deep breath, she pulls her head back and looks at him. Her eyes are darker than usual, her face bright. “Yeah?”

His eyes are darker than usual too. “It wouldn’t be rushing really, would it?” 

She actually laughs at that. Then grins softly as she presses against him one more time, lifting a hand to cup his face in her. “We’ve known each other since we were what, six? And we’ve been best friends for over two years at this point…” 

“See, this is exactly why I love you, we’re just on the same page about this kind of thing,” he tells her with a grin. There are a million reasons why he loves Lydia, and every single day he’s reminded of it in a hundred different ways. 

When he grins, she can’t help but lean closer and kiss his lips once more. But just for a second before she pulls away again. “But, I also meant what I said last night. You mean too much for me for us to do something you don’t feel one hundred percent comfortable with, Stiles.”

His expression softens and he nods a little, searching her eyes. “I know,” he says quietly. “I feel the same way.” 

“I love you,” she whispers to him again, leaning close and brushing her nose to his. “And I’m one hundred percent comfortable with _you_.” 

Stiles relaxes at that, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Okay.” He shifts a little, sitting up and pulling her with him. “Tell you what. I don’t want our first time together to be rushed or us be worried because my dad’s asleep down the hall,” he admits. “So why don’t I make us some breakfast?” 

Her face softens and she nods. As much as she doesn’t want to wait, she really doesn’t want that, either. She wants them to have time to get to know each other in ways they don’t yet. “Yeah, that sounds good,” she adds quietly, holding his gaze.

Stiles reaches out and tucks some hair behind her ear, hand lingering against her cheek for a moment before he leans in and kisses her forehead softly. “Pancakes?” 

“Yeah, I’ll help you,” she says even as she closes her eyes again and wraps her arm around him once more.

He smiles softly as she hugs him again and he slides his arms around her, resting his head against hers and letting his eyes close. 

Lydia smiles too when his eyes close. She brushes her nose to his then sighs softly as she relaxes. Pancakes sound really good and she is hungry, but-- just being here with him, she’s not sure there’s anything that’s ever going to beat this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the feedback and the love this fic received, it means a lot to us and it’s inspiring us to write fic again! <3


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